This is my child, he said. I wash a dead man's brains out of his hair. That is my job.

Nobody wants to be here and nobody wants to leave.

There is no God and we are his prophets.

People were always getting ready for tomorrow. I didn't believe in that. Tomorrow wasn't getting ready for them. It didn't even know they were there.

Every day is a lie. But you are dying. That is not a lie.

By day the banished sun circles the earth like a grieving mother with a lamp.

You have my whole heart. You always did.

He knew only that his child was his warrant. He said: If he is not the word of God God never spoke.

He could not construct for the child's pleasure the world he'd lost without constructing the loss as well and he thought perhaps the child had known this better than he.

Can you do it? When the time comes? When the time comes there will be no time. Now is the time. Curse God and die.

What he could bear in the waking world he could not by night and he sat awake for fear the dream would return.

If we push hard now, this next wave can be the last wave. In the future, there will be no female leaders. There will just be leaders

You’re not the same. You’re not supposed to be the same. You’re supposed to be different. This isn’t something you will ever forget.

She began to realize some decisions cannot be undone no matter how hard you try.

Fate often puts all the material for happiness and prosperity into a man's hands just to see how miserable he can make himself with them.

I wrote about what I was going through at the time.

I did not know how to paint a mural. I did not know how to prepare the surface. There was nobody from the Renaissance around who could advise me, and I did the best I could.

Nowadays nothing but money counts: a fortune brings honors, friendships, the poor man everywhere lies low.

Sarcastic people tend to be marshmallows underneath the armor

As a Business Ambassador, I am delighted to help both new and established British designers receive the recognition they deserve in the global fashion arena.

Rumor is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures.