Oh build your ship of death, oh build it in time and build it lovingly, and put it between the hands of your soul.

Let me be candid, my party is full of racists

Let's go to Valhalla with the sun on our faces.

All artists are constantly looking for something and they don't always know what.

This is my genre...the happiness, tragedies, and the sorrows of mankind as realized in the teeming black ghetto.

And it is not necessary to have great things to do. I turn my little omelette in the pan for the love of God.

If you're too open-minded; your brains will fall out.

I would describe my work as expressionist. The expressionist point of view is stressing your own feelings about something.

To worship God in truth is to recognize Him for being who He is, and to recognize ourselves for what we are.

If I don't have anything to do all day, I might not even put my pants on.

We ought not to be weary of doing little things for the love of God, who regards not the greatness of the work, but the love with which it is performed.

The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so sure of themselves and wiser people so full of doubt.

To imagine is to spark beauty in our thoughts.

Everyone in the valleys knew me and because of that, so many people used my name in the valleys that there must have been at least a hundred times a night that the name ‘Malcolm Price’ was used.

In some respect Journalism is like science, the best ideas were one that survived and strengthened by opposition.

Happiness is never a negative affair; it is to be won by men who are fully alive, full of the joy of living

The world may think it idiotic, Nor care at all we're symbiotic, But I will say at once and twice: I find it nice. I find it nice.

You can argue with someone's opinion, but you can't argue with their story.

Breakdowns come, and breakdowns go.

What kind of world permitted such terrible injustice, where good men were stripped of everything and soulless creatures of malice and hatred survived to glory in their pointless death?

A bird sings, a child prattles, but it is the same hymn; hymn indistinct, inarticulate, but full of profound meaning.