You can't delete racism. It's like a cigarette. You can't stop smoking if you don't want to, and you can't stop racism if people don't want to. But I'll do everything I can to help.

I never saw Death before, and now I seeThat it is warring eyes in a woman's form.

Thiruvalluvar

Engage your brain before you engage your weapon.

Jim Mattis

My future is in my past and my past is my present. I must now make the present my future.

Vladimir Horowitz

General principles are not the less true or important because from their nature they elude immediate observation; they are like the air, which is not the less necessary because we neither see nor feel it.

William Hazlitt

Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fire,A million scarce would quench desire; Still would I steep my lips in bliss, And dwell an age on every kiss; Nor then my soul should sated be, Still would I kiss and cling to thee: Nought should my kiss from thine dissever, Still would we kiss and kiss for ever; E'en though the numbers did exceed The yellow harvest's countless seed; To part would be a vain endeavour: Could I desist?--ah! never--never.

Lord (George Gordon) Byron, Imit

Libraries are the thin red line between civilization and barbarism.

Neil Gaiman

There is a camaraderie that grows up among those who work with old books and old papers, largely, I suspect, because we understand that we are at odds with the rest of the world: we are travelling backwards, while all those around us are still moving forward.

Peter Ackroyd

If I held all the thoughts of the world in my hand, I would be careful not to open it.

Bernard Le Bovier Fontenelle

Having an eye for beauty isn't the same thing as a weakness...except possibly when it comes to you.

Suzanne Collins

I don't talk about who I'm dating because when you break up, you wind up reliving it in the media.

Bridget Fonda

There is no longer any such thing as fiction or nonfiction; there's only narrative.

E. L. Doctorow

How the old mountains drip with sunset,And the brake of dun!How the hemlocks are tipped in tinselBy the wizard sun!How the old steeples hand the scarlet,Till the ball is full, --Have I the lip of the flamingoThat I dare to tell?Then, how the fire ebbs like billows,Touching all the grassWith a departing, sapphire feature,As if a duchess pass!How a small dusk crawls on the villageTill the houses blot;And the odd flambeaux no men carryGlimmer on the spot!Now it is night in nest and kennel,And where was the wood,Just a dome of abyss is noddingInto solitude! --These are the visions baffled Guido;Titian never told;Domenichino dropped the pencil,Powerless to unfold.

Emily Dickinson, THE COMING OF N