Matter moves, but Ether is strained.

Death is the end of a stage, not the end of the journey. The road stretches on beyond our comprehension.

A fish probably has no means of apprehending the existence of water; it is too deeply immersed in it.

Death is not extinction. Neither the soul nor the body is extinguished or put out of existence.

In other cases, when the medium becomes entranced, the demonstration of a communicator's separate intelligence may become stronger and the sophistication less.

Death is not a foe, but an inevitable adventure.

Any person without invincible prejudice who had the same experience would come to the same broad conclusion, viz., that things hitherto held impossible do actually occur.

The properties which differentiate living matter from any kind of inorganic imitation may be instinctively felt, but can hardly be formulated without expert knowledge.

There is a conservation of matter and of energy, there may be a conservation of life; or if not of life, of something which transcends life.

But although life is not energy, any more than it is matter, yet it directs energy and thereby controls arrangements of matter.

Death is not a word to fear, any more than birth is.

I could never be a Communist. I could never be regimented. I could never be told what to write.

My favorite parts of work as an actor and a director are those unplanned mistakes that do happen, because it's like catching lightning in a bottle. It's the best part of what we do.

I've had two terrific relationships, but both ended in marriage.

When you give something, just for the joy of creating, it always comes back on a much larger scale.

You can do more than pray after you have prayed, but you cannot do more than pray until you have prayed. Pray often, for prayer is a shield to the soul, a sacrifice to God, and a scourge to Satan.

You're not going to be great at everything. Surround yourself with people that can compliment you so you can work together and then everybody can be successful.

If you think that the brass is not blowing loud enough, mute it by a couple of degrees.

All the heat and fear had purged itself. I felt surprisingly at peace. The bell jar hung suspended a few feet above my head. I was open to the circulating air.

I am looking for the novelists whose writing is an extension of their intellect rather than an extension of their neurosis.

Every wanton and causeless restraint of the will of the subject, whether practiced by a monarch, a nobility, or a popular assembly, is a degree of tyranny.