“You must believe me when I believe, and not when I doubt.”

I am what I am because early in life I decided that I would please at least myself in all things.

And if kisses in these words could travel too, Madam, you’d read this letter with your lips.

A pessimist is a man who tells the truth prematurely.

The dream, alone, is of interest. What is life without a dream?

You must believe me when I believe, and not when I doubt.

My soul, be satisfied with flowers, with fruit, with weeds even; but gather them in the one garden you may call your own.

A large nose is in fact the sign of an affable man, good, courteous, witty, liberal, courageous, such as I am.

It is at night that faith in light is admirable.

My heart always timidly hides itself behind my mind. I set out to bring down stars from the sky, then, for fear of ridicule, I stop and pick little flowers of eloquence.

To joke in the face of danger is the supreme politeness, a delicate refusal to cast oneself as a tragic hero.

To offend is my pleasure; I love to be hated.

It is at night that faith in light is admirable.

A kiss is a rosy dot placed on the “i” in loving.

Your neck. I want to kiss it.

A great nose may be an index Of a great soul.

Stay awhile! ‘Tis sweet,. . . The rare occasion, when our hearts can speak Our selves unseen, unseeing!

Doctor, you don’t know what it is to doubt everything, even yourself. No, you don’t; you couldn’t with eyebrows like yours.

So many people doubted me. They motivated me every single day, to be, who I am.

Whatever the misery, he could not regain contentment with a world which, once doubted, became absurd.

My job, my whole life, I’ve always had that kind of doubter, people have always doubted me. And I don’t know how I would succeed without it. So I welcome it, and it gives me a challenge, and I will see if I can live up to my challenge.

Dare to believe, and then dare to speak, and you shall have whatsoever you say if you doubt not.

Once doubt begins it spreads rapidly.

I would not dare to say that there is a direct relation between mathematics and madness, but there is no doubt that great mathematicians suffer from maniacal characteristics, delirium and symptoms of schizophrenia.

Neither look forward where there is doubt nor backward where there is regret.