Your brain is all you are, Ms. Enslow, and there's nothing wrong with yours, whatever they might've tried to tell you.

Sometimes being a nice person is all about knowing when to be an asshole.

Every human is born of collusion. We come into this world the result of a covenant. Sometimes made of love, Sometimes of circumstance. But almost always made in secret.

Stay up... 'till you come up... when you come up stay up!

The right art," cried the Master, "is purposeless, aimless! The more obstinately you try to learn how to shoot the arrow for the sake of hitting the goal, the less you will succeed in the one and the...

What most of these doomsday scenarios have gotten wrong is the fundamental idea of economics: people respond to incentives. If the price of a good goes up, people demand less of it, the companies that...

Love alters all. Unblood my instinct, love.

Granted, not all uneducated women are prostitutes, and, not all prostitutes are uneducated. However, where building a family is employment, an uneducated woman's womb is her diploma.

The earth is not supposed to be developed and civilized by prayers alone, the earth is supposed to be civilized by hard work, labour and diligence.

Life is a wave of love for a lover, a gift for a giver, a drama for an actor, and a canvas for a painter.

The purpose of any healthy relationship is to find someone that will magnify your life's experiences, not tolerate it or become a spectator of it.

Why are you smoking? Why are you smoking so much? This isn't you...""You were my old addiction, so smoking became my new one.

We are not won by arguments that we can analyze but by tone and temper, by the manner which is the man himself.

An angry artist tells people what (he thinks) they need to hear. A hungry artist tells people what (he thinks) they want to hear.

If you've ever been hungry, you can never be full.

The shriek cut thinly though the drizzling dimness, holding for a long moment. At last it broadened and dropped to the old.

We, peopling the void air, make gods to whom we impute the ills we ought to bear.

The mixture of the grotesque and the tragic is agreeable to the spirit, as are discords to the jaded ear.

Soothing the exhaustionIn my soul,So I can fall back skyward,Safe in your arms,And survive to dream again.

One faerie - and then we were free. Just on more swing of my arm. And maybe one more after that - maybe one more swing, up and inward and into my own heart.