“The dreadful fear of hell is to be driven out, which disturbs the life of man and renders it miserable, overcasting all things with the blackness of darkness, and leaving no pure, unalloyed pleasure.”

Those vestiges of natures left behind Which reason cannot quite expel from us Are still so slight that naught prevents a man From living a life even worthy of the gods.

Nature repairs one thing from another and allows nothing to be born without the aid of another’s death.

Things stand apart so far and differ, that What’s food for one is poison for another.

How many evils have flowed from religion.

How is it that the sky feeds the stars?

It is great wealth to a soul to live frugally with a contented mind.

How wretched are the minds of men, and how blind their understandings.

True piety lies rather in the power to contemplate the universe with a quiet mind.

The old must always make way for the new, and one thing must be built out of the ruins of another. There is no murky pit of hell awaiting anyone.

The sum total of all sums total is eternal.

Only religion can lead to such evil.

The drops of rain make a hole in the stone not by violence but by oft falling.

Epicurus whose genius surpassed all humankind, extinguished the light of others, as the stars are dimmed by the rising sun.

By protracting life, we do not deduct one jot from the duration of death.

Fear was the first thing on Earth to create gods.

For fools admire and love those things they see hidden in verses turned all upside down, and take for truth what sweetly strokes the ears and comes with sound of phrases fine imbued.

Anybody who is not pulling his weight is probably pushing his luck.

What I like about the Carpenter take on The Thing is the fact that it just has so much suspense.

The most frequent promise in the Bible is ‘I will be with you.’

It was about survival. It was about where the next meal was coming from.

The farce is finished. I go to seek a vast perhaps.

I love it when you like a character, and then she does something you don’t like

I have no desire to dress up my poetry and make it fancy.

One of these lives is a fancy, But the other one is true.