Modest egotism is the salt of conversation; you do not want too much of it, but if it is altogether omitted, everything tastes flat.

Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity.

Some succeed because they are destined to, but most succeed because they are determined to.

A friend is what the heart needs all the time.

Every house where love abides And friendship is a guest, Is surely home, and home sweet home For there the heart can rest.

Be glad of life because it gives you the chance to love, to work, to play, and to look up at the stars.

For those who love... time is eternity.

Use what talents you possess; the woods would be very silent if no birds sang there except those that sang best.

The simple life which blandly ignores all care and conflict, soon becomes flabby and invertebrate, sentimental and gelatinous.

What you possess in the world will be found at the day of your death to belong to someone else. But what you are will be yours forever.

Gratitude is the inward feeling of kindness received. Thankfulness is the natural impulse to express that feeling. Thanksgiving is the following of that impulse.

I never minded the random scribblings of other readers, found them interesting in fact. It is a truth universally acknowledged that people write the darndest things in the margins of their books.

Leaders are not worried about what they can’t do

I'd rather have names to hurt me, than my bones broken with sticks and stones.

Our life is our own to-day, to-morrow you will be dust, a shade, and a tale that is told. Live mindful of death; the hour flies.

I've always been an outsider kid. But I had always wanted to be in a group - growing up, I loved bands like the Cranberries and K's Choice.

I'm 48, which is a bit of a shock to me. Why only last year I thought I was a precocious young thing!

Could it be that my circle is largely black and that it is why I am influential in black circles but not in white circles?

You, of course, are a rose-- But were always a rose.

The unit of the poet is the word, the unit of the prose writer is the sentence.

For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.