Compassion is a call, a demand of nature, to relieve the unhappy as hunger is a natural call for food

The tongue may be employed about, and made to serve all the purposes of vice, in tempting and deceiving, in perjury and injustice.

Pain and sorrow and misery have a right to our assistance: compassion puts us in mind of the debt, and that we owe it to ourselves as well as to the distressed.

Things and actions are what they are, and the consequences of them will be what they will be: why then should we desire to be deceived?

But to us, probability is the very guide of life.

Happiness or satisfaction consists only in the enjoyment of those objects which are by nature suited to our several particular appetites, passions, and affections.

Every man is to be considered in two capacities, the private and public; as designed to pursue his own interest, and likewise to contribute to the good of others.

Love of our neighbour, then, has just the same respect to, is no more distant from, self-love, than hatred of our neighbour, or than love or hatred of anything else.

As this world was not intended to be a state of any great satisfaction or high enjoyment, so neither was it intended to be a mere scene of unhappiness and sorrow.

Happiness does not consist in self-love.

It is not at all incredible, that a book which has been so long in the possession of mankind should contain many truths as yet undiscovered.

No one can take, nor steal what they did not give. They don't have power that role like that!

There's no shame compared to being beautiful with nothing in your brain, an ugly devil with wits is much better that the former.

I can never drive my car over a bridge without thinking of suicide. I can never look at a lake or an ocean without thinking of suicide.

All wisdom is rooted in learning to call things by the right name. When things are properly identified, they fall into natural categories and understanding becomes orderly.

I like the fans’ sound at night. Do you? It’s like somebody big far away goes like: it’sOKit’sOKit’sOKit’sOK, over and over. From very far away.

I don't think that art, if it's isolated and specialized, can really create culture. It needs a cult.

Ain't no glory made from being dependable.

Now piercèd is her virgin zone; She feels the foe within it. She hears a broken amorous groan, The panting lover's fainting moan, Just in the happy minute.

My shyness has been in reality my shield and buckler. It has allowed me to grow. It has helped me in my discernment of truth.

I do think that what's wonderful in life is that we gain perspective as we take on different roles that are mind and heart opening.