A pretty building I'm making, without either bricks or timber. I'm up i' the garret a'ready, and haven't so much as dug the foundation.

What destroys us most effectively is not a malign fate but our own capacity for self-deception and for degrading our own best self.

Her little butterfly soul fluttered incessantly between memory and dubious expectation.

It is very hard to say the exact truth, even about your own immediate feelings – much harder than to say something fine about them which is not the exact truth.

It's easy finding reasons why other folks should be patient.

Her own misery filled her heart—there was no room in it for other people's sorrow.

She hates everything that is not what she longs for.

We are overhasty to speak as if God did not manifest himself by our silent feeling, and make his love felt through ours.

You must mind and not lower the Church in people's eyes by seeming to be frightened about it for such a little thing.

The select natures who pant after the ideal, and find nothing in pantaloons or petticoats great enough to command their reverence and love, are curiously in unison with the narrowest and pettiest.

A woman may get to love by degrees—the best fire does not flare up the soonest.

Man has places in his heart which do not yet exist, and into them enters suffering, in order that they may have existence.

I wanted to tell her not to entertain despair like this. Despaire wasn't a guest, you didn't play its favorite music, find it a comfortable chair. Despair was the enemy."-white oleander

What we see in the world around us is just a reflection of what is inside of us.

Lies like that are not a sin, they are a sacrifice.

I think about God, yes, and I wonder if there is a God. And if there is a God, will God please help me through my hard trips.

I'm a tiger when I want love, but I'm a snake if we disagree.

[Donald] Trump is a fascist and that's not a term I use loosely or often but he has earned it.

I clench his hands to the point of pain. "Stay with me." His pupils contract to pinpoints, dialate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. "Always," he murmurs.

Like one Who having into truth, by telling of it, Made such a sinner of his memory, To credit his own lie.