There are currently more political parties in Iraq than unbombed buildings to hold them.

That is why I fought against abortion and that is why if I were still in the Senate I would be doing everything I could to defend the sanctity of marriage.

Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock. Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring. Snowing and blowing up bushels of fun. Now the jingle hop has begun.

I feel like I'm worried about my later years in life because I feel like I'm using up so much good karma right now. There's going to be some sort of karmic backlash somewhere down the road.

If God had wanted us to use the metric system, Jesus would have had 10 apostles.

Why build a zoo when we can just put up a fence around Chapel Hill?

So long as your desire to explore is greater than your desire to not screw up, you're on the right track.

Don't be afraid of fear. Because it sharpens you, it challenges you, it makes you stronger; and when you run away from fear, you also run away from the opportunity to be your best possible self.

This may come as a surprise, given the nature of my job, but I am very guarded and contemplative. I'm not a naturally boisterous person.

White people, wake up before it is too late. Do you want Negroes working beside you, your wife and your daughters, in your mills and factories? Frank Graham favors mingling of the races.

It still surprises me when I find something in any North Carolina newspaper that isn't mad at me about something.

In his creative work the artist is dependent on sources and resources deriving from the spiritual unconscious.

I say, flawless poems do not exist.

It is better to pray about everything than worry about nothing.

My mother gave me my drive but my father gave me my dreams.

The only yardstick for success our society has is being a champion. No one remembers anything else.

Adde, quod ingénues didicisse fideliter artes Emollit mores, nec sinit esse fervos. To be instructed in the arts, softens the manners and makes men gentle.

Intellectual liberty is the air of the soul, the sunshine of the mind, and without it, the world is a prison, the universe is a dungeon.

I cannot speculate on what our cluttered mind will save- sleepy Sundays, or a nosebleed after love. I know only the dying heart needs the nourishment of memory to live beyond too many winters.

I love to dwell on the thought that the artist is next in divinity to the saint. He, like the saint, performs miracles.

Literature is a peculiarly public product of a particularly private endeavor.