“I’m armed with more than complete steel, – The justice of my quarrel.”

Things that are not at all, are never lost.

Honour is purchas’d by the deeds we do.

Live and die in Aristotle’s works.

Religion! O Diabole! Fie, I am asham’d, however that I seem, To think a word of such simple sound, Of such great matter should be made the ground.

Fools that will laugh on earth, most weep in hell.

Strike up the drum and march courageously.

All places shall be hell that are not heaven.

Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed In one self place, for where we are is hell, And where hell is there must we ever be.

Is it not passing brave to be a King and ride in triumph through Persepolis?

O soul, be changed into little waterdrops, / And fall into the ocean, ne’er be found!

Why should you love him whom the world hates so? Because he love me more than all the world.

Nothing violent, oft have I heard tell, can be permanent.

The griefs of private men are soon allayed, But not of kings.

It is a comfort to the miserable to have comrades in misfortune, but it is a poor comfort after all.

Religion hides many mischiefs from suspicion.

More childish valorous than manly wise.

It is always more difficult to fight successfully against Faith than against knowledge.

He who would live must fight. He who doesn’t wish to fight in this world, where permanent struggle is the law of life, has not the right to exist.

I can fight only for something that I love, love only what I respect, and respect only what I at least know.

I fought fear and pain for my freedom. I didn’t come back the same, I came back alive.

How can I be brave when my insides are quaking from fighting this fear.

Those who want to live, let them fight, and those who do not want to fight in this world of eternal struggle do not deserve to live.

The fear in your chest only exists because you have something worth fighting for.

If you are going to chase away your demons, you have to go to where they are.