Can you understand how cruelly I feel the lack of friends who will believe in me a bit?

Let me be candid, my party is full of racists

Let's go to Valhalla with the sun on our faces.

All artists are constantly looking for something and they don't always know what.

This is my genre...the happiness, tragedies, and the sorrows of mankind as realized in the teeming black ghetto.

And it is not necessary to have great things to do. I turn my little omelette in the pan for the love of God.

If you're too open-minded; your brains will fall out.

I would describe my work as expressionist. The expressionist point of view is stressing your own feelings about something.

To worship God in truth is to recognize Him for being who He is, and to recognize ourselves for what we are.

If I don't have anything to do all day, I might not even put my pants on.

We ought not to be weary of doing little things for the love of God, who regards not the greatness of the work, but the love with which it is performed.

You only have to doze a moment, and all is lost. For ruin and salvation both have their source inside you.

Some people need significance more than they need another person. Change will only happen in a relationship when you realize it is not the person, but the "emotion" you desire.

We're always moving forward in different places physically and psychologically.

Jesus said...i'm the only way to permanent peace, im the only way to permanent joy, im the only way to eternal life, im the only way to forgiveness of sin, im the only way to the Father.

How can you tell? That I like books, I mean. The look on your face when you walked in, somehow I doubted you were that impressed by me.

Poetry and slave trading cannot be bedfellows. That's where I stand.

Focus not on what he or she does, but on keeping to your higher purpose. Your own purpose should seek harmony with nature itself. For this is the true road to freedom.

Not necessarily narrow so much as impatient, intense.

No love or pity, pardon or excuse should soften the sharp pang of reparation for the guilty man.

Man, like the bridge, was designed to carry the load of the moment, not the combined weight of a year at once.