It is we that are blind, not fortune.

It is the common wonder of all men, how among so many million faces, there should be none alike.

Life itself is but the shadow of death, and souls departed but the shadows of the living.

Rough diamonds may sometimes be mistaken for worthless pebbles.

Light is the shadow of God.

What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women, though puzzling questions, are not beyond all conjecture.

There are mystically in our faces certain characters which carry in them the motto of our souls, wherein he that cannot read may read our natures.

All the wonders you seek are within yourself.

There is musick, even in the beauty and the silent note which Cupid strikes, far sweeter than the sound of an instrument.

Think it more satisfactory to live richly than die rich.

We carry within us the wonders we seek without us.

It is art that makes life, makes interest, makes importance, and I know of no substitute for the force and beauty of it's process.

That's not in my yard.

Animal personalities have always intrigued me, the desire to find out more about them made a reader out of me.

In terms of asking questions, I plead guilty. I ask a hell of a lot of questions. That's my job.

For next to being a great poet is the power of understanding one.

The appeal to force is the abandonment of reason.

And it's impossible for me to read Henry James.

Apparently, the most difficult feat for a Cambridge male is to accept a woman not merely as feeling, not merely as thinking, but as managing a complex, vital interweaving of both.

Pain wanders through my bones like a lost fire