Besides, I myself have now for a long time ceased to look for anything more beautiful in this world, or more interesting, than the truth; or at least than the effort one is able to make towards the truth.

Educational enterprises do not for any length of time remain immune from the struggle of interests for power which is the dominant feature of social life under a class system.

A. J. Muste

I'm grateful to God for His bountiful gifts... He gave me courage and faith in myself.

Loretta Young

If architecture had nothing to do with art, it would be astonishingly easy to build houses, but the architect's task - his most difficult task - is always that of selecting.

Arne Jacobsen

You can only use someone for so long before you dry them out. How long does a muse last? When do you let them loose?

Coco J. Ginger

The dream was not to put one black family in the White House, the dream was to make everything equal in everybody's house.

Al Sharpton

Do not worry about whether or not the sun will rise. Be prepared to enjoy it.

Source Unknown

It is rarely that you see an American writer who is not hopelessly sane.

Margaret Anderson

Every man has his own vocation, talent is the call.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Every reader finds himself. The writer's work is merely a kind of optical instrument that makes it possible for the reader to discern what, without this book, he would perhaps never have seen in himself.

Marcel Proust

There is nothing more innately human than the tendency to transmute what has become customary into what has been divinely ordained.

Suzanne Lafollette

It seemed that out of battle I escaped Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped Through granites which titanic wars had groined. Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned, Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,Lifting distressful hands, as if to bless. And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall, - By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell. With a thousand pains that vision's face was grained;Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground, And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan. 'Strange friend,' I said, 'here is no cause to mourn.''None,' said that other, 'save the undone years, The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours, Was my life also; I went hunting wild After the wildest beauty in the world, Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair, But mocks the steady running of the hour, And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here.For by my glee might many men have laughed,And of my weeping something had been left, Which must die now. I mean the truth untold, The pity of war, the pity war distilled.http://www.pitt.edu/~pugachev/greatwar/owen.html

Wilfred Owen, Strange Meeting, 1

Man is the only animal that loves his neighbor as himself and cuts his throat if his theology isn't straight

Mark Twain