I sometimes think that animals are incapable of the kinds of cruelty that humans willingly inflict on each other.

Love is like that, fragile and light. No wonder it rests upon our hearts in intangible moments, bids us follow fleeting thoughts and ideas and pursue our abstract imaginings.

Creativity and ideas fired between every synapse underneath my skin and I felt radiant from the inside out.

When I was young I wanted so much to be like her. What a blessing are those moments when there is nothing to worry about, no thought of trouble or grief in the world.

I could feel their grief as if it were a beast holding us down.

Maybe attraction was aligned in heaven before our birth because there was no other way to explain my feelings. There were millions of boys on the earth. Why did it feel so strong?

If we were rational creatures we would never get out of bed or live or love.

Her smile could wash away a thousand doubts as soon as light up a room.

Don't you find it strange that your mother would leave you?' Becky said. 'I can't imagine my other leaving me.'I'd never thought of it like that before. 'I don't think she knew what else to do.

But sometimes I wanted to feel like a child, to know that he would stand in front of me while waves crashed towards us or arrows come at us.

Standing there, that day, I felt like Sally was being torn from my skin and there was no way I could ever fly free, without her right beside me.

We are not perfect. We make mistakes. We screw up but then we forgive and move forward.

He who keeps his cool best wins.

Wanted: a man who will not lose his individuality in a crowd, a man who has the courage of his convictions, who is not afraid to say 'No, ' though all the world say 'Yes.'

Interethnic and spiritual accord is our strategic resource, the basis for progress of our society and state.

There is a spirit, an energy, that works with us. We've all felt it at some point in our lives.

Two things are universal: Hydrogen and stupidity

The mental imagery involved with pianistic tactilia is not related to the striking of individual keys but rather to the rites of passage between notes.

Before printing was discovered, a century was equal to a thousand years.

Wouldn't it be nice if roses could talk? I'm sure they could tell us such lovely things.

I love thee; none but thee, and thou deservest it