“Philosophy excludes the doctrine of angels, and all such things as are thought to be neither bodies nor properties of bodies.”

War consisteth not in battle only, or the act of fighting but in a tract of time,wherein the will to contend by battle is sufficiently known.

Knowledge is power.

Desire, to know why, and how, curiosity; such as is in no living creature but man

If I read as many books as most men do, I would be as dull-witted as they are.

Words are the counters of wise men, and the money of fools.

The secret thoughts of a man run over all things, holy, profane, clean, obscene, grave, and light, without shame or blame.

Fact be virtuous, or vicious, as Fortune pleaseth.

Eloquence, with flattery, disposeth men to confide in them that have it; because the former is seeming wisdom, the latter seeming kindness.

No arts; no letters; no society; and which is worst of all, continual fear and danger of violent death; and the life of man solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.

The understanding is by the flame of the passions never enlightened, but dazzled.

Look not at the greatness of the evil past, but the greatness of the good to follow.

Men are moved by appetites and aversions.

True’ and ‘false’ are attributes of speech, not of things. And where speech is not, there is neither ‘truth’ nor ‘falsehood.

Whatsoever therefore is consequent to a time of war, where every man is enemy to every man, the same consequent to the time wherein men live without other security than what their own strength and their own invention shall furnish them withal.

I often observe the absurdity of dreams, but never dream of the absurdity of my waking thoughts.

Leisure is the mother of Philosophy.

Let’s sit at the table of angels and allow our horns to pop through our halos.

We just sat there, staring into each other’s eyes. In the silence, I swear I could hear the beating wings of an angel.

You were the best and worst nights of my life fucking while the flames lick us at least you’re a distraction from my spiritual death. You’re a god damn angel in a crack den.

I learned to play with the monsters under my bed. I gave angel wings to the demons in my head. I asked the voices in my mind to sing sweet lullabies and finally, I found the love and fire in my own eyes.

An angel’s soft breath coating the grounds, a gentle caress wakes us now.

Baby, I am an angel who can set your world on fire.

Angels exist because devils do.

To pretend angels do not exist because they are invisible is to believe we never sleep because we don’t see ourselves sleeping.