Resentment isn't a magnetic personal style.

A speech is poetry: cadence, rhythm, imagery, sweep! A speech reminds us that words, like children, have the power to make dance the dullest beanbag of a heart.

The battle for the mind of Ronald Reagan was like the trench warfare of World War I: never have so many fought so hard for such barren terrain.

TV gives everyone an image, but radio gives birth to a million images in a million brains.

Naps are nature's way of reminding you that life is nice, like a beautiful swinging hammock strung between birth and infinity.

If you join government, calmly make your contribution and move on. Don't go along to get along; do your best and when you have to - and you will - leave, and be something else.

You don't have to be old in America to say of a world you lived in: 'that world is gone.'

Part of courage is simple consistency.

You can get so well educated in America that your thoughts become detached from common sense. You can get so complicated in your thinking that the obvious isn't real to you anymore.

I think miracles exist in part as gifts and in part as clues that there is something beyond the flat world we see.

Morals are concerned with what aids or impedes the fulfillment of basic human needs.

If we were rational enough to judge what we are fed based on what we are fed, those in the business of selling us hope (i.e., public speakers, presidents, priests, etc.) wouldn't wear suits.

Two young adventurers for hire. Willing to do anything, go anywhere. Pay must be good. No reasonable offer refused.

Every moderate drinker could abandon the intoxicating cup if he would every inebriate would if he could.

No one can give you freedom but you.

Mexico is offering a $3.8 million reward for information leading to the capture of the escaped billionaire drug lord, El Chapo. Mexico said they'll get the money by borrowing it from El Chapo.

...you need not do and be everything.

It ain't a bad plan to keep still occasionally even when you know what you're talking about.

Perfect love was that kind of love that made no sense but made everything else make sense somehow. It was raw and unscripted, turbulent and slightly unpredictable.

Before there was a proper understanding and a sense of God's presence, the idea that everything would one day end was utterly desolating.

For what Harley Street specialist has time to understand the body, let alone the mind or both in combination, when he is a slave to thirteen thousand a year?