“A drop of ink may make a million think.”

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes.

Come what may, I have been blest.

What should I have known or written had I been a quiet, mercantile politician or a lord in waiting? A man must travel, and turmoil, or there is no existence.

The first moment of an universal republic would convert me into an advocate for single and uncontradicted despotism.

The tiger will himself intervene in the discussion, in a manner which will be in every sense conclusive.

The devil was the first democrat

Of religion I know nothing — at least, in its favor.

This is to be mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality.

Damn description, it is always disgusting.

The best prophet of the future is the past.

I deny nothing, but doubt everything.

Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach Who please, the more because they preach in vain

Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.

Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.

I learned to love despair.

I do not believe in any religion, I will have nothing to do with immortality. We are miserable enough in this life without speculating upon another.

Government is the only institution that can take a valuable commodity like paper, and make it worthless by applying ink.

But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.

It isnot good enough tospend time and ink indescribing the penultimate sensations and physical movements of people getting into a state of rut, we all know them so well.

I was born and raised on a Carolina sea island and I carried the sunshine of the low-country, inked in dark gold, on my back and shoulders.

The ink of the scholar is more holy than the blood of the martyr.

Her aura was filled with inked blue and red flowers that had words embedded on it.

I called it a baptism in flaming ink that forced me to shed my shyness about recognizing myself

As a poet and to accept the fact that life had never given me any choice in the matter. And then I had to discover exactly what that meant.