Those who would make us feel must feel themselves.

Who often, but without success, have prayed for apt Alliteration's artful aid.

England a fortune-telling host, As num'rous as the stars, could boast; Matrons, who toss the cup, and see The grounds of Fate in grounds of tea.

Genius is of no country.

Nature listening stood, whilst Shakespeare play'd And wonder'd at the work herself had made.

When satire flies abroad on falsehood's wing, Short is her life, and impotent her sting; But when to truth allied, the wound she gives Sinks deep, and to remotest ages lives.

The surest way to health, say what they will, Is never to suppose we shall be ill; Most of the ills which we poor mortals know From doctors and imagination flow.

Weak is that throne, and in itself unsound, Which takes not solid virtue for its ground.

A joke's a very serious thing.

No tribute is laid on castles in the air.

The rigid saint, by whom no mercy's shown To saints whose lives are better than his own.

Relational depth often emerges from intentional dialog

We allow our ignorance to prevail upon us and make us think we can survive alone, alone in patches, alone in groups, alone in races, even alone in genders.

If you go to heaven without being naturally qualified for it you will not enjoy it there.

The world is getting very much more competitive.

Plot is just a fancy way of saying 'and then.

Lost in the solitude of his immense power, he began to lose direction.

If you want to make your mother happy, talk to her. If you want to make your father happy, listen.

You have to believe in yourself before anybody else believes in you.

Last year, I reviewed a nine-hour documentary about the lives of Mongolian yak herdsmen, and I would rather see it again than sit through The Frighteners.

Oh, how swiftly the glory of the world passes away!