All along we find that social life - religion, politics, art - reflects the stages reached in the development of the knowledge of self it shows the social uses made of this knowledge.

Make every effort to change things you do not like. If you cannot make a change, change the way you have been thinking. You might find a new solution.

Maya Angelou

Experience is what you have after you've forgotten her name.

Milton Berle

I love to hold people's hands when I visit hospitals, even though they are shocked because they haven't experienced anything like it before, but to me it is a normal thing to do.

Princess of Wales Diana

All architecture is great architecture after sunset perhaps architecture is really a nocturnal art, like the art of fireworks.

Gilbert K. Chesterton

There are always three speeches, for every one you actually gave. The one you practiced, the one you gave, and the one you wish you gave.

Dale Carnegie

You are always born under the wrong sign, and to live in this world properly you have to rewrite your own horoscope day by day.

Umberto Eco

I'm very pleased with each advancing year. It stems back to when I was forty. I was a bit upset about reaching that milestone, but an older friend consoled me. 'Don't complain about growing old - many, many people do not have that privilege'.

Earl Warren

Classical music is the kind we keep thinking will turn into a tune.

Kin Hubbard

The Senate is a place filled with goodwill and good intentions, and if the road to hell is paved with them, then it's a pretty good detour.

Hubert H. Humphrey

The idea of capitalism is not just success but also the failure that allows success to happen.

P. J. O'Rourke

The wise man warns me that life is but a dewdrop on the lotus leaf.

Rabindranath Tagore

I would awake at sunrise, and without washing or dressing sit down before the easel which stood right beside my bed. Thus the first image I saw on awakening was the painting I had begun, as it was the last I saw in the evening when I retired . . . I spent the whole day seated before my easel, my eyes staring fixedly, trying to 'see', like a medium (very much so indeed), the images that would spring up in my imagination. Often I saw these images exactly situated in the painting. Then, at the point commanded by them, I would paint, paint with the hot taste in my mouth that panting hunting dogs must have at the moment when they fasten their teeth into the game killed that very instant by a well-aimed shot. At times I would wait whole hours without any such images occuring. Then, not painting, I would remain in suspense, holding up one paw, from which the brush hung motionless, ready to pounce again upon the oneiric landscape of my canvas the moment the next explosion of my brain brought a new victim of my imagination bleeding to the ground.

Salvador Dali, My Secret Life