Wars of small kingdoms and forgotten lands, what do chessmen dream of in the dark?

You want to know about anybody? See what books they read, and how they've been read.

But hands are sacred things. Touch is personal, fingers of love, feelers of blind eyes, tongues of those who cannot talk.

I am in limbo, and in limbo there are no races, no prizes, no changes, no chances. There are merely degrees of endurance, and endurance never was my strong point.

There is a time, when passing through a light, that you walk in your own shadow.

It's the possibility that when you're dead you might still go on hurting that bothers me.

I have faced Death. I have been caught in the wild weed tangles of Her hair, seen the gleam of her jade eyes. I will go when it is time - no choice! - but now I want life.

I am not dead yet! I can still call forth a piece of soul and set it down in color, fixed forever.

The smarter you are, the more you know, the less reason you have to trust or love or confide.

I am exceedingly angry for no good reason.

The company you keep at death is, of all things, most dependent on chance.

Never trust anyone who has not brought a book with them

Being on tour sends me crazy, I drink too much and out comes the John Mcenroe in me.

These people haven't seen the last of my face. If I go down, I'm going down standing up.

In fact, in Europe, I'm more kind of this bloke what writes lots of stuff.

All the modelling we do shows that the climate is poised on the jump up to a new hot state. It is accelerating so fast that you could say that we are already in it.

Prayer is not an argument with God to persuade him to move things our way, but an exercise by which we are enabled by his Spirit to move ourselves his way.

But when a snowflake, brave and meek,Lights on a rosy maiden's cheek,It starts-"How warm and soft the day!""'T is summer!" and it melts away.

Every man is the author of his own life.

A rhinoceros is as ugly as a human being, and it too is going to die, but at least it never thinks that it is beautiful.

In the deepest heart of all of us there is a corner in which the ultimate mystery of things works sadly.