““Heaven help us,” said the old religion; the new one, from its very lack of that faith, will teach us all the more to help one another.”

It is always good to know, if only in passing, charming human beings. It refreshes one like flowers and woods and clear brooks.

Conscience is harder than our enemies, Knows more, accuses with more nicety.

There is no killing the suspicion that deceit has once begotten.

Knowledge slowly builds up what Ignorance in an hour pulls down.

It is painful to be told that anything is very fine and not be able to feel that it is fine–something like being blind, while people talk of the sky.

One must be poor to know the luxury of giving!

After all, the true seeing is within.

When God makes His presence felt through us, we are like the burning bush: Moses never took any heed what sort of bush it was—he only saw the brightness of the Lord.

Friendship is the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words.

It’s no use filling your pocket with money if you have got a hole in the corner.

We want people to feel with us more than to act for us.

It is pleasant to have a kind word now and then when one is not near enough to have a kind glance or a hearty shake by the hand.

In travelling I shape myself betimes to idleness And take fools’ pleasure

There is only one failure in life possible, and that is not to be true to the best one knows.

Our deeds still travel with us from afar, and what we have been makes us what we are.

What a wretched lot of old shrivelled creatures we shall be by-and-by. Never mind – the uglier we get in the eyes of others, the lovelier we shall be to each other; that has always been my firm faith about friendship.

The way my brain processes information is quite odd. I mean, I have Attention Deficit Disorder and another learning disability I can’t even spell. I don’t even have a high school diploma. I’m smart, but you can’t prove it on paper.

Ive never actually watched another director work.

One man’s constant is another man’s variable.

In our brief national history we have shot four of our presidents, worried five of them to death, impeached one and hounded another out of office. And when all else fails, we hold an election and assassinate their character.

But what do they help if one seeks for counsel, for one cries this, and one cries that, and another cries something that is neither this nor that.

Ritual is another word for fear, manifested in a different way.

What broke in a man when he could bring himself to kill another?

And I discover that we rarely if ever see the totality of another in ordinary social intercourse.