He was dead. However, his nose throbbed painfully, which he thought odd in the circumstances.

And I have wondered often, was I master in my soul, or did I become the slave of my own blade?

For so many years, for so long, I have been so many things, so many different men. But here, " he said, so softly I could barely hear him, "here in the dark, with you… I have no name.

You have lost your mind, "Jamie said coldly, the shock receding slightly. "Or I should think you had, if ye had one to lose.

It is fine to be involved in social life and bring life to the community

How does one happen to write a poem: where does it come from? That is the question asked by the psychologists or the geneticists of poetry.

You can never discount the pleasure of showing up to work with Scarlett Johansson and now Cobie Smulders. That's just a day that's easy on your eyes.

The human race will be the cancer of the planet.

To be deeply committed to negotiations, to be opposed to a particular war or military action, is not only considered unpatriotic, it also casts serious doubt on one's manhood.

I think, therefore I am ... not here.

Let love simply bloom... and it is unstoppable.

A liar ought to have a good memory.

Love isn’t putting chain on someone who wants to struggle and is ready to die for it, love is letting him die in the way he’s chosen.

I'm sorry to burden you,' she said. She felt like a crybaby. 'What can we do with our stories,' he said, 'but tell them?