Men would be angels, angels would be gods.

The greatest magnifying glasses in the world are a man's own eyes when they look upon his own person.

Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

A little learning is a dangerous thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.

In faith and hope the world will disagree, but all mankind's concern is charity.

To err is human; to forgive, divine.

Teach me to feel another's woe, to hide the fault I see, that mercy I to others show, that mercy show to me.

The best way to prove the clearness of our mind, is by showing its faults; as when a stream discovers the dirt at the bottom, it convinces us of the transparency and purity of the water.

Chiefs who no more in bloody fights engage, But wise through time, and narrative with age, In summer-days like grasshoppers rejoice - A bloodless race, that send a feeble voice.

While pensive poets painful vigils keep, Sleepless themselves, to give their readers sleep.

See! From the brake the whirring pheasant springs, And mounts exulting on triumphant wings; Short is his joy! He feels the fiery wound, Flutters in blood, and panting beats the ground.

If a writer stops observing he is finished. Experience is communicated by small details intimately observed.

Dissents speak to a future age.

The memoirs I love are all very intense. If you're going to do a memoir and protect yourself, what the hell's the point? Just do fiction.

As South Africa has a white population of only 2.8 million or thereabouts, you can see that every other central organization in the world has been out-created.

I've always assumed it to be an absolute requirement for being a writer: to find all emotions and the sources of all behaviors somewhere within yourself.

I don't see everybody as much as I used to because as individuals everybody is busy but none of the relationships have changed.

Businesses are not paid to reform customers. They are paid to satisfy customers.

We are amused through the intellect, but it is the heart that saves us from ennui.

Philosophy abounds more than philosophers, and learning more than learned men.

It is not the passion of a mind struggling with misfortune, or the hopelessness of its desires, but of a mind preying on itself, and disgusted with, or indifferent to all other things.