“O, I have read his Heart in his wicked eyes many a time. The very devil is in them.”

I acknowledge myself a unitarian

If we expect to inherit the blessings of our Fathers, we should return a little more to their primitive Simplicity of Manners.

How few have souls capable of so noble an undertaking!

Some disagreeable circumstances that attend my situation.

These are the times in which a genius would wish to live. It is not in the still calm of life, or the repose of a pacific station, that great characters are formed.

A little of what you call frippery is very necessary towards looking like the rest of the world.

That your Sex are Naturally Tyrannical is a Truth so thoroughly established as to admit of no dispute

Remember all Men would be tyrants if they could.

But such of you as wish to be happy willingly give up the harsh title of Master for the more tender and endearing one of Friend.

Great learning and superior abilities…will be of little value and small estimation unless virtue, honor, truth, and integrity are added to them.

How difficult the task to quench the fire and the pride of private ambition, and to sacrifice ourselves and all our hopes and expectations to the public weal!

Do not put such unlimited power into the hands of the Husbands.

The parent of slavery, ignorance, and barbarism, which places man upon a level with his fellow tenants of the woods.

I desire you would Remember the Ladies, and be more generous and favourable to them than your ancestors.

Humble indeed, when compared to the Palaces you have visited, and the pomp you have been witness to.

But like them, may we learn by defeat the power of becoming invincible.

I’m just a potato that won’t quit. I’m a potato with some legs. Some have eyes, I’ve got legs.

Tamaki to Kyoya: I thought you wanted more because your eyes don’t show satisfaction now.

There is only one way in the world to be distinguished. Follow your instinct! Be yourself, and you’ll be somebody. Be one more blind follower of the blind, and you will have the oblivion you desire.

Writing is to descend like a miner to the depths of the mine with a lamp on your forehead, a light whose dubious brightness falsifies everything, whose wick is in permanent danger of explosion, whose blinking illumination in the coal dust exhausts and corrodes your eyes.

Fix your eye on the ball from the moment the pitcher holds it in his glove. Follow it as he throws to the plate and stay with it until the play is completed. Action takes place only where the ball goes.

They say that these are not the best of times, but they’re the only times I’ve ever known. And I believe there is a time for meditation in cathedrals of our own.

A good writer refuses to be socialized. He insists on his own version of things, his own consciousness. And by doing so he draws the reader’s eye from its usual groove into a new way of seeing things.

It doesn’t seem that long ago to me that the word ‘irreverent’ seemed affixed to my name. ‘Irreverent newcomer.’ I went from irreverent to venerable in what seems to me like the blink of an eye.