It is like the panting of a thousand puppies.

Her smile put the sunflower to shame.

She was elusive. She was today. She was tomorrow.

if you learn to hate one or two persons... you'll soon hate millions of people.

Live today. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. Just today. Inhabit your moments. Don't rent them out to tomorrow.

Everybody has an angel hiding inside. When you die, your angel comes out. You can die, but not your angel. Your angel never dies.

When you own nothing, it's easy to let things go.

Life is populated with scarecrows—all those people and things that seem so scary and trouble our sleep. Isn't it nice to know that most of them turn out to be made of nothing but straw?

Who are you?' I didn't understand the question. I'm Uri', he said. 'What's your name?' I gave him my name. 'Stopthief.

How much better might human communication be if words were as precious as diamonds? If each of us were allotted only 100 words per day?

We long to be found, hoping our searchers have not given up and gone home.

What is the difference between my life and my love? One gets me low, the other lets me go.

The moral backbone of literature is about that whole question of memory. To my mind it seems clear that those who have no memory have the much greater chance to lead happy lives.

Those who write clearly have readers.

This idea of perpetual happiness is crazy and overrated, because those dark moments fuel you for the next bright moments; each one helps you appreciate the other.

Visiting Anderson Silva. He's doing AMAZING! Leg is healing fast and will be walking without crutches in 30 days.

People don't know anything about themselves because they're all worried about everybody else.

Oh mysterious world... I have become better for having understood and having loved thy human soul - a flower which has ceased to bloom and whose fragrance no one henceforth will breathe.

Science is a good thing. News reporters are good things too. But it's never a good idea to put them in the same room.

Believe me, the man who earns his bread by the sweat of his brow, eats oftener a sweeter morsel, however coarse, than he who procures it by the labor of his brains.

There is something endearing about the weatherman.