You know, bad poetry I wrote in high school can still be found on the Internet, and, you know, there's a Web log of our college newspaper. You know, there's so many different stages of my creative development are sort of on-record if somebody were to choose to look for them.

Do you even really know how vampires are made?''Well, when a mommy vampire and a daddy vampire love each other very much...

Cassandra Clare

Many a man who pays rent all his life owns his own home and many a family has successfully saved for a home only to find itself at last with nothing but a house.

Bruce Barton

You need education. You need subsistence protection. We need jobs and social security. These are preconditions under which it will perhaps be possible to deal with these complex circumstances.

Ulrich Beck

Every sentence has a truth waiting at the end of it and the writer learns how to know it when he finally gets there.

Don DeLillo

At every turn, when humanity is asked the question, 'Do you want temporary economic gain or long-term environmental loss, which one do you prefer,' we invariably choose the money.

Ethan Hawke

Was there a language of loss? Did everyone who suffered speak a different dialect?

Jodi Picoult

Women encourage men to be childish, then scold them.

Mason Cooley

It's amazing the hours you pull when you're the lead of a show.

Jamie Luner

Humor can alter any situation and help us cope at the very instant we are laughing.

Allen Klein

This also -- that I live, I consider a gift of God.

Ovid

Money often costs too much.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Every part of this soil is sacred in the estimation of my people. Every hillside, every valley, every plain and grove, has been hallowed by some sad or happy event in days long vanished. Even the rocks, which seem to be dumb and dead as the swelter in the sun along the silent shore, thrill with memories of stirring events connected with the lives of my people, and the very dust upon which you now stand responds more lovingly to their footsteps than yours, because it is rich with the blood of our ancestors, and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch. Our departed braves, fond mothers, glad, happy hearted maidens, and even the little children who lived here and rejoiced here for a brief season, will love these somber solitudes and at eventide they greet shadowy returning spirits. And when the last Red Man shall have perished, and the memory of my tribe shall have become a myth among the White Men, these shores will swarm with the invisible dead of my tribe, and when your children's children think themselves alone in the field, the store, the shop, upon the highway, or in the silence of the pathless woods, they will not be alone. In all the earth there is no place dedicated to solitude. At night when the streets of your cities and villages are silent and you think them deserted, they will throng with the returning hosts that once filled them and still love this beautiful land.This text appeared in the Seattle Sunday Star on Oct. 29, 1887, in a column by Dr. Henry A. Smith. Smith took notes as Seattle spoke and created this text in English from those notes.

Chief Seattle, text of Chief Sea