Eight inches strong, it is my favourite thing; If I'm alone at night, I embrace it fully - A beautiful woman hasn't touched it for ages. Within my fundoshi there is an entire universe!

Having no destination, I am never lost.

Learn how to read the love letters sent by the wind and rain, the snow and moon.

Like vanishing dew, a passing apparition or the sudden flash of lightning -- already gone -- thus should one regard one's self.

Break open the cherry tree: where are the blossoms? Just wait for spring time to see how they bloom.

Many paths lead from the foot of the mountain, but at the peak we all gaze at the single bright moon.

Look at the cherry blossoms! Their color and scent fall with them, Are gone forever, Yet mindless The spring comes again.

Become a Buddha? The mind can't do it. The body can't do it. Only what can't become a Buddha becomes a Buddha.

We must become what we were Before we were born

Break open A cherry tree And there are no flowers; But the spring breeze Brings forth myriad blossoms.

Don't read the sutras - practice meditation. Don't take up the broom - practice meditation. Don't plant tea seeds - practice meditation.

You can’t out-spend the giants, but you can out-think, out-teach, and out-help them.

Hillary Clinton's raising the money from the people she wants to control.

The trend now is to get away from stage bound sitcoms.

With a sound like a bat hitting a watermelon, pirate fist connected with pirate jaw and a gold tooth bounced across the deck.

If a man can reach the latter days of his life with his soul intact, he has mastered life.

Some of us have become so addicted to pointing fingers at others for all the wrong that happens in our lives that self-assessment has become synonymous with blaming the victim.

People must do what they must do. We all don't think alike or act alike and it's wrong to-to judge others by ourselves.

As long as I didn't have to put on the tiara and the chains and the big yellow shirt for the whole series, I was up for anything.

As pride sometimes is hid under humility, idleness if often covered by turbulence and hurry.

I always believed that whatever had to be written would somehow get itself written.