“It is by not always thinking of yourself, if you can manage it, that you might somehow be happy.”

When we hold something, anything, in our thought, then somehow coincidence leads us in the direction that we’ve been wishing to lead ourselves.

You don’t want a million answers as much as you want a few forever questions.

I am subject to that principle, in spirit and in belief of body.

Every person, all the events of your life are there because you have drawn them there. What you choose to do with them is up to you.

Your conscience is the measure of the honesty of your selfishness. Listen to it carefully.

To fly as fast as thought, you must begin by knowing that you have already arrived.

Whatever steps we take, they’re necessary to reach the places we’ve chosen to go.

Study a lifetime and you see different colors from the same jewel.

Your friends will know you better in the first minute you meet than your acquaintances will know you in a thousand years.

The simplest questions are the most profound.

Some choices we live not only once but a thousand times over, remembering them for the rest of our lives.

The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in injustice and tragedy.

The best way to pay for a lovely moment is to enjoy it.

Civilization… wrecks the planet from seafloor to stratosphere.

Can miles truly separate you from friends… If you want to be with someone you love, aren’t you already there?

Don’t be dismayed by good-byes.

The mortal sickness of a mind too unhappy to be kind.

There, by the starlit fences The wanderer halts and hears My soul that lingers sighing About the glimmering weirs.

Entrance and exit wounds are silvered clean, The track aches only when the rain reminds. The one-legged man forgets his leg of wood, The one-armed man his jointed wooden arm. The blinded man sees with his ears and hands As much or more than once with both his eyes.

Let not things, because they are common, enjoy for that the less share of our consideration.

To laugh, if but for an instant only, has never been granted to man before the fortieth day from his birth, and then it is looked upon as a miracle of precocity.

Nature makes us buy her presents at the price of so many sufferings that it is doubtful whether she deserves most the name of parent or stepmother.

The enjoyments of this life are not equal to its evils.

There’s a cool web of language winds us in, Retreat from too much joy or too much fear: We grow sea-green at last and coldly die In brininess and volubility.