“God put me on this Earth to accomplish a certain number of things. Right now I’m so far behind that I’ll never die”

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.

If men are naturally in a state of war, why do they always carry arms and why do they have keys to lock their doors?

In the very shadows of doubt a thread of reason (so to speak) begins, by whose guidance we shall escape to the clearest light.

The light of humane minds is perspicuous words, but by exact definitions first snuffed, and purged from ambiguity, reason is the pace.

The Power of a Man is his present means, to obtain some future apparent Good.

The condition of man . . . is a condition of war of everyone against everyone.

As a draft-animal is yoked in a wagon, even so the spirit is yoked in this body.

Stuff your eyes with wonder, live as if you’d drop dead in ten seconds. See the world. It’s more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories.

An epic era has drawn curtains, never to happen again.

You cannot conceive how I ache to be with you: how I would die for one hour.

Love’s very pain is sweet, But its reward is in the world divine Which, if not here, it builds beyond the grave.

Fear does not prevent death. It prevents life.

I crumble into a ball, with the chest pain exploding my soul, the memories and madness is killing me, will you help me?

I want to scream and cry until my lungs dry out the air that I breathe, maybe my death would be beneficial to them.

I wish I was either in your arms full of faith, or that a Thunder bolt would strike me.