“Treachery and violence are spears pointed at both ends; they wound those who resort to them worse than their enemies.”

Nonsense, do you imagine he has thought as much of you as you have of him?

I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free.

I cannot love thee; thou ‘rt worse than thy brother. Go, say thy prayers, child, and ask God’s pardon. I doubt thy mother and I must rue that we ever reared thee!

A messenger of Hope comes every night to me, And offers for short life, eternal liberty.

You have left me so long to struggle against death, alone, that I feel and see only death! I feel like death!

We must be for ourselves in the long run; the mild and generous are only more justly selfish than the domineering.

Last night, I was on the threshold of hell. To-day, I am within sight of my heaven. I have my eyes on it: hardly three feet to sever me!

Hereafter she is only my sister in name; not because I disown her, but because she has disowned me.

I despise him for himself, and hate him for the memories he revives!

I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death; and flung it back to me.

Worthless as wither’d weeds.

You know, I’ve had a bitter, hard life since I last heard your voice and if I’ve survived it’s all because of you.

There is not room for Death, Nor atom that his might could render void: Thou – Thou art Being and Breath, And what Thou art may never be destroyed.

They forgot everything the minute they were together again.

He might as well plant an oak in a flowerpot, and expect it to thrive, as imagine he can restore her to vigour in the soil of his shallow cares!

If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn’t love as much in eighty years as I could in a day.

The journey of fire begins, survives and ends with air.

If you believe that the world is going to come to an end – and perhaps any day now – does it not drain one’s motivation to improve life on earth while we’re here?

Struggle is a never ending process. Freedom is never really won, you earn it and win it in every generation.

The art of survival is a story that never ends.

My life was an unending, unchanging midnight. It must, by necessity, always be midnight for me. So how was it possible that the sun was rising now, in the middle of my midnight?

After two world wars, the collapse of fascism, nazism, communism and colonialism and the end of the cold war, humanity has entered a new phase of its history.

When my father died, the money he left us would have dried up within a year were it not for my mother. We might very well have ended up on welfare.

Do what you love until doing ends and only love exists.