Bullshit takes no genius, even fool senses its' foul.

Eyes shows lies.

News told, rumors heard, truth implied, facts buried.

Truth often sacrificed for the sake of stability and peace.

If I tell you not to follow me, it ain't because I hate you, kiddo.I just don't want you feel dissapointed...when seeing the truth.

There are many things which can not be expressed by words. There are many words which can not be spelled by human tongue. There are many tongues which utter one single truth.

Price of peace could only be valued by people who had suffered loss in the war.

Nobody wants to tell a truth which harms himself.

Maybe, it is easier to forget the past, than to overcome the pain caused by it.Maybe, it is one of some other reasons, why men forget their prehuman ancestor.

Truth is something believed in heart.Fact is anything happened in realities.

A bitter reality of truth can be wisely told in a sweet tale of lullaby.

The sail, the play of its pulse so like our own lives: so thin and yet so full of life, so noiseless when it labors hardest, so noisy and impatient when least effective.

Laws to suppress tend to strengthen what they would prohibit. This is the fine point on which all legal professions of history have based their job security.

The Common Curriculum can easily become the karaoke curriculum, where everyone just follows the bouncing ball of the script.

The interior life is often stupid.

The Danes are causing a bit of trouble. The kingdom of Denmark claimed the North Pole as their own. Hey, you can't just reach out and take something if you want it, Denmark. That's Russia's job.

My dad's Russian. My mother's English. I would say my bottom half is Russian.

I like kisses that aren't too fast or rushed - that's what makes a good kiss.

I watched TV religiously when I was a kid, but nowadays - with the Internet - there's so many people writing about TV on the Internet, that everything's sort of under a magnifying glass.

Have you ever hung a piece of black velvet behind you and looked at yourself in the mirror? We are each of us quite alone, and that's what I try to paint.

From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged / In rambling talk with an image of air: / Vague memories, nothing but memories.