“One of the pleasures of reading old letters is the knowledge that they need no answer.”

I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all.

Tyranny is for the worst of treasons.

A timid mind is apt to mistake every scratch for a mortal wound.

Roll on, deep and dark blue ocean, roll. Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. Man marks the earth with ruin, but his control stops with the shore.

Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, sermons and soda water the day after.

Man is in part divine, A troubled stream from a pure source.

Who then will explain the explanation?

It is when we think we lead that we are most led.

Why do they call me misanthrope? Because They hate me, not I them.

Heaven gives its favourites-early death.

A mistress never is nor can be a friend. While you agree, you are lovers; and when it is over, anything but friends.

A thousand years may scare form a state. An hour may lay it in ruins.

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?

Be warm, be pure, be amorous, but be chaste.

Friendship is Love without his wings!

They truly mourn, that mourn without a witness.

The antidote to envy is one’s own work. Always one’s own work. Not the thinking about it. Not the assessing of it. But the doing of it. The answers you want can come only from the work itself.

You’ll find i-poetry, you’ll find that you can download poetry, that you can stuff your i-pod with recorded poetry. So just to answer the question that way, I think that poetry is gonna catch up with that technology quite soon.

It fills me with joy to know that we can pursue these answers. It is an astonishing thing that we are — you and I are one of the ways the universe knows itself.

Think how fortunate we are to know this much. But think also of all that’s yet to be discovered. Here’s hoping the deep answers to the deep questions-from the nature of consciousness to the origin of life-will be found in not too much more time.

I remember, the players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakespeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) he never plotted out a line. My answer hath been, would he had blotted a thousand.

A lot of people question my image and why I do what I do, and the answer is because this is how I want to present myself.

I am not talking about selfishness or self-interest. When I ask, What will make you happy?, I mean, What way of loving others feels right for you? Choose a way of loving that makes you happy, and your efforts will be play rather than work.

Don’t think that she is one of those rude women of whom there are so many-on the contrary, she is utterly courteous and pleasant. If you greet her, she will answer you right away and converse with you!