“None merits the name of Creator but God and the poet.”

Fortune rarely accompanies anyone to the door.

Women have tongues of craft, and hearts of guile, They will, they will not; fools that on them trust; For in their speech is death, hell in their smile.

Any time not spent on love is wasted.

For when last need to desperation driveth, Who dareth most he wiseth counsel giveth.

Lost is the time that you don’t spend for love.

Grave was the man in years, in looks, in word, his locks were grey, yet was his courage green.

Perhaps if only once you did enjoy The thousandth part of all the happiness A heart beloved enjoys, returning love, Repentant, you would surely sighing say, “All time is truly lost and gone Which is not spent in serving love.”

A friend giveth sympathy in trouble.

A fool is he that comes to preach or prate, When men with swords their right and wrong debate.

It is the fortunate who should extol fortune.

Not for no cold did freeze, Nor any cloud beguile Th’eternal flowering spring

They make their fortune who are stout and wise, Wit rules the heavens, discretion guides the skies.

True love cannot be found where it does not exist, nor can it be denied where it does.

O subtle love! a thousand wiles thou hast, by humble suit, by service, or by hire, to win a maiden’s hold,–a thing soon done, for nature framed all women to be won.

Then amongst flowers and springs, Making delightful sport, Sat lovers without conflict, without flame

He, full of bashfulness and truth, loved much, hoped little, and desired naught.

It’s not the name that makes the player. It’s the player.

First of all my real full name is Lloyd Vernet Bridges III.

I’ve been called many names like perfectionist, difficult and obsessive. I think it takes obsession, takes searching for the details for any artist to be good.

There is no crueler tyranny than that which is perpetuated under the shield of law and in the name of justice.

My name is Four,” I say. “Call me ‘Stiff’ again and you and I will have a problem.

A stick or a stone only stings for a minute. A name seems to hurt forever.

I couldn’t remember my name for weeks. I’d be at the theater and hear them calling ‘Miss Stanwyck, Miss Stanwyck,’ and I’d think ‘Where is that dame? Why doesn’t she answer? By crickie, it’s me!

Odonianism is anarchism. Not the bomb-in-the-pocket stuff, which is terrorism, whatever name it tries to dignify itself with, not the social-Darwinist economic ‘libertarianism’ of the far right; but anarchism, as prefigured in early.