“We ever long for visions of beauty, We ever dream of unknown worlds.”

Many contemporary authors drink more than they write.

All human beings have gray little souls-and they all want to rouge them up.

Everybody, my friend, everybody lives for something better to come. That’s why we want to be considerate of every man – Who knows what’s in him, why he was born and what he can do?

Everything which is good in me should be credited to books.

Just think, reader, what will happen to you if the truth of a mad beast overpowers the sane truth of man?

Silence is terrible and painful only to those who have said all and have nothing more to speak of; but to those who never had anything to say— to them silence is simple and easy.

With his own money a person can live as he likes-a ruble that’s your own is dearer than a brother.

The higher goal a person pursues, the quicker his ability develops, and the more beneficial he will become to the society. I believe for sure that this is also a truth.

Our most merciless enemy is our past.

Two forces are succesfully influencing the education of a cultivated man: art and science. Both are united in the book.

When one loves somebody, everything is clear – where to go, what to do – it all takes care of itself and one doesn’t have to ask anybody about anything.

What I’d like is to meet a man I could take off my hat to and say: “Thank you for having got born, and the longer you live the better.

The most beautiful words in the English language are ‘not guilty’.

Writers build castles in the air, the reader lives inside, and the publisher inns the rent.

All of us are pilgrims on this earth. I’ve even heard people say that the earth itself is a pilgrim in the heavens.

You can’t do without philosophy, since everything has its hidden meaning which we must know.

Where do you go when you don’t know where to go?

Just hoping for the gentle in the unknown.

You have arms and legs, but don’t know what to do with your lives.

I still don’t know what I want to do when I grow up.

Endings are also beginnings with a destination unknown.

It was a good place for getting lost in, a city no one ever knew, a city explored from the neutral heart outward, until after many years, it defined itself into a jumble of clearings separated by stretches of the unknown, through which the narrowest of paths had been cut.

What do we do now, now that we are happy?

Full little knowest thou that hast not tried, What hell it is in suing long to bide: To loose good dayes, that might be better spent; To waste long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow; To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow.