“A good conscience is a port which is landlocked on every side, where no winds can possibly invade. There a man may not only see his own image, but that of his Maker, clearly reflected from the undisturbed waters.”

Reason is a crutch for age, but youth is strong enough to walk alone.

I’m a little wounded, but I am not slain; I will lay me down to bleed a while. Then I’ll rise and fight again.

They that possess the prince possess the laws.

None, none descends into himself, to find The secret imperfections of his mind: But every one is eagle-ey’d to see Another’s faults, and his deformity.

Our souls sit close and silently within, And their own web from their own entrails spin; And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such, That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.

Merit challenges envy.

Sculptors are obliged to follow the manners of the painters, and to make many ample folds, which are unsufferable hardness, and more like a rock than a natural garment.

For secrets are edged tools, And must be kept from children and from fools.

Here lies my wife: here let her lie! Now she’s at rest, and so am I.

Among our crimes oblivion may be set.

Youth should watch joys and shoot them as they fly.

Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; and every little absence is an age.

Those who write ill, and they who ne’er durst write, Turn critics out of mere revenge and spite.

I never saw any good that came of telling truth.

Much malice mingled with a little wit Perhaps may censure this mysterious writ.

If the faults of men in orders are only to be judged among themselves, they are all in some sort parties; for, since they say the honour of their order is concerned in every member of it, how can we be sure that they will be impartial judges?

A beautiful woman looking at her image in the mirror may very well believe the image is herself. An ugly woman knows it is not.

I would never create an image for myself; I’m not that clever.

I’ve never heard a man in a suit tell me what to wear; that’s not their forte. You hire your stylist; whatever someone’s image is as an artist is what they’ve chosen to portray.

Maybe an image is worth 1000 words, but some words are worth 10,000 tears.

Maybe she’d try to understand that the dark images muddled my brain until it hurt, until I had no choice but to let them out.

Half the battle is selling music, not singing it. It’s the image, not what you sing.

If we have to have a choice between being dead and pitied, and being alive with a bad image, we’d rather be alive and have the bad image.

Real motivation is that drive from within: You know where you are going because you have a compelling image inside, not a travel poster on the wall.