“I don’t know any more about the future than you do. I hope that it will be full of work, because I have come to know by experience that work is the nearest thing to happiness that I can find. I want a busy life, a just mind and a timely death.”

Truth is a letter from courage!

Some people could look at a mud puddle and see an ocean with ships.

She had an inside and an outside now and suddenly she knew how not to mix them.

Research is formalized curiosity. It is poking and prying with a purpose.

An envious heart makes a treacherous ear.

Love is like the sea. It’s a moving thing, but still and all, it takes its shape from the shore it meets, and it’s different with every shore.

There is no single face in nature, because every eye that looks upon it, sees it from its own angle. So every man’s spice-box seasons his own food.

So she sat on the porch and watched the moon rise. Soon its amber fluid was drenching the earth, and quenching the thirst of the day.

Ships at a distance have every man’s wish on board.

I love myself when I am laughing. And then again when I am looking mean and impressive.

Sometimes, I feel discriminated against, but it does not make me angry. It merely astonishes me. How can any deny themselves the pleasure of my company? It’s beyond me.

The present was an egg laid by the past that had the future inside its shell.

Now, women forget all those things they don’t want to remember, and remember everything they don’t want to forget. The dream is the truth. Then they act and do things accordingly.

Love, I find, is like singing.

She was saving up feelings for some man she had never seen.

When one is too old for love, one finds great comfort in good dinners.

Obviously, I dont live and die by it, everything my horoscope says. But I feel like theres definitely something to it.

Love, whether newly born, or aroused from a deathlike slumber, must always create sunshine, filling the heart so full of radiance, this it overflows upon the outward world.

Everything is good as long as it is unpossessed. Satiety and possession are Death’s horses they run in span.

Is it wrong for me to love my own? Is it wicked for me because my skin is red? Because I am Sioux? Because I was born where my father lived? Because I would die for my people and my country?

In the memory of the dead all chronological differences are effaced.

One of the things you realize about gettin older is that not everybody is goin to get older with you.

All my life’s about is cracking up people and them cracking me up and trying not to think about dying. That doesn’t cost very much money.

When you die it’s the same as if everybody else did too.