“All truths wait in all things.”

A writer can do nothing for men more necessary, satisfying, than just simply to reveal to them the infinite possibility of their own souls.

I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person.

We convince by our presence.

All music is is what awakes from you when you are reminded by the instruments.

Battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.

The powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.

Not I, nor anyone else can travel that road for you. You must travel it by yourself. It is not far. It is within reach. Perhaps you have been on it since you were born, and did not know. Perhaps it is everywhere – on water and land.

A great city is that which has the greatest men and women.

All is procession; the universe is a procession with measured and beautiful motion.

The smallest sprout shows there is really no death.

To drive free, to love free, to court destruction with taunts, to feed the remainder of life with one hour of fullness and freedom – one brief hour of madness and joy.

Every hour of every day is an unspeakably perfect miracle.

Some people are so much sunshine to the square inch.

Whoever degrades another degrades me, And whatever is done or said returns at last to me.

In the confusion we stay with each other, happy to be together, speaking without uttering a single word.

I hate commas in the wrong places.

Champagne, if you are seeking the truth, is better than a lie detector.

I dream of a world where the truth is what shapes people’s politics, rather than politics shaping what people think is true.

Love is the key we must turn, truth is the flame we must burn.

Truth is, I’ve always been selling out. The difference is that in the past, I looked like I had integrity because there were no buyers.

I’ve always preferred mythology to history. History is truth that becomes an illusion. Mythology is an illusion that becomes reality.

Imagination, on the contrary, which is ever wandering beyond the bounds of truth, joined to self-love and that self-confidence we are so apt to indulge, prompt us to draw conclusions which are not immediately derived from facts.

They won’t listen. Do you know why? Because they have certain fixed notions about the past. Any change would be blasphemy in their eyes, even if it were the truth. They don’t want the truth; they want their traditions.

If truth is beauty, how come no one has their hair done in the library?