He did not know what love was. And he did not know what good it was. But he knew he carried it around with him, a scabrous spot of rot, of contagion, for which there was no cure.

I like the way my heart beats, I like the way I think I don't need or want anything to change that.

Jordin Sparks

He that has satisfied his thirst turns his back on the well.

Baltasar Gracian

Pushing any truth out very far, you are met by a counter-truth.

Henry Ward Beecher

There seems to be no limit to the possibilities of scientific medicine, and while philanthropists are turning to it as to the hope of humanity, philosophers see, as in some far-off vision, a science from which may come in the prophetic words of the Son of Sirach, Peace over all the earth.

William Osler

Youth cannot know how age thinks and feels. But old men are guilty if they forget what it was to be young.

J. K. Rowling

Let me alone, and go in search of someone else.

Ali ibn Abi Talib

They tell me, Lord, that when I seemTo be in speech with you.Since but one voice is heard, it

C.S. Lewis

Once the state has been founded, there can no longer be any heroes. They come on the scene only in uncivilized conditions.

G. W. F. Hegel

Sex is like washing your face - just something you do because you have to. Sex without love is absolutely ridiculous. Sex follows love, it never precedes it.

Sophia Loren

Why, if one wants to compare life to anything, one must liken it to being blown through the Tube at fifty miles an hour--landing at the other end without a single hairpin in one's hair! Shot out at the feet of God entirely naked! Tumbling head over heels in the asphodel meadows like brown paper parcels pitched down a shoot in the post office! With one's hair flying back like the tail of a race-horse. Yes, that seems to express the rapidity of life, the perpetual waste and repair; all so casual, all so haphazard...But after life. The slow pulling down of thick green stalks so that the cup of the flower, as it turns over, deluges one with purple and red light. Why, after all, should one not be born there as one is born here, helpless, speechless, unable to focus one's eyesight, groping at the roots of the grass, at the toes of the Giants?

Virginia Woolf

Crabbed and obscure definitions are of no use beyond a narrow circle of students, of whom probably every one has a pet one of his own.

Frederick Pollock

Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.

Victor Hugo