Playwriting gets into your blood and you can't stop it. At least not until the producers or the public tell you to.

It is never too late to be what you might have been.

Most of the trouble in the world is caused by people wanting to be important.

Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.

We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.

If we really want to pray we must first learn to listen, for in the silence of the heart God speaks.

I learn a great deal by merely observing you, and letting you talk as long as you please, and taking note of what you do not say.

Where is the Life we have lost in living? Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?

Finding a way to live the simple life is one of life's supreme complications.

April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.

The journey, Not the destination matters.

Accidents ambush the unsuspecting, often violently, just like love.

The trouble with being in the rat race is that even if you win, you're still a rat.

I believe home is where the heart can be open and loving with a sense of security. It must not be a place of fear.

Timing degree and conviction are the three wise men in this life.

To study history means submitting to chaos and nevertheless retaining faith in order and meaning.

I would rather die standing up to live life on my knees.

Exhaustively researched and beautifully written, Cronkite is a classic. Douglas Brinkley has written his best book yet. This is a fascinating story that will be read for years to come.

Growing old gracefully used to begin at about 35, but today women prefer to 'stay young gratefully' with thanks to designers, beauticians and plastic surgeons.

Life is like riding a bicycle. You get nowhere standing up, so get up on that seat and go!

You are now In London, that great sea, whose ebb and flow At once is deaf and loud, and on the shore Vomits its wrecks, and still howls on for more. Yet in its depth what treasures!