Indeed there has never been any explanation of the ebb and flow in our veins--of happiness and unhappiness.

Melancholy were the sounds on a winter's night.

Fatigue is the safest sleeping draught.

Every face, every shop, bedroom window, public-house, and dark square is a picture feverishly turned--in search of what? It is the same with books. What do we seek through millions of pages?

It is no use trying to sum people up.

When the body escaped mutilation, seldom did the heart go to the grave unscarred.

I like books whose virtue is all drawn together in a page or two. I like sentences that don't budge though armies cross them.

They say the sky is the same everywhere. Travellers, the shipwrecked, exiles, and the dying draw comfort from the thought[.]

anyone who’s worth anything reads just what he likes, as the mood takes him, and with extravagant enthusiasm.

What's the use trying to read Shakespeare, especially in one of those little paper editions whose pages get ruffled, or stuck together with sea-water?

The voice had an extraordinary sadness. Pure from all body, pure from all passion, going out into the world, solitary, unanswered, breaking against rocks—so it sounded.

Truth in the human world, is constructed, defined and then reconstructed by the human self.

Perception in the eye of vengeance becomes blurred. Ren was in need of a slap on the face, but I knew what was coming and that it would do the job properly.

Good leaders teach you how to swim to the shore

New York has always embraced me.

The cause ceasing, the effect ceases also

I am for maximum supervision and minimum regulation.

If you look at creation the way it is, it is explosively beautiful.

I was once that little boy Terrified of the world, now I'm on a world tour

No matter how long a log stays in the water, it doesn't become a crocodile.

Sand. Everywhere. In the bed, in the shower, all over the floor. Grrrrr.