The previously unloved may find it hard to believe that they are now loved; that is such a miracle, they feel; such a miracle.

When a man has died, he wants you to know about it.

Stephen King

I shall try to correct errors when shown to be errors, and I shall adopt new views so fast as they shall appear to be true views

Abraham Lincoln

Love is staying up all night with a sick child -- or a healthy adult.

Sir David Paradine Frost

There is no stimulus like that which comes from the consciousness of knowing that others believe in us.

Orison Swett Marden

Writers must fortify themselves with pride and egotism as best they can. The process is analogous to using sandbags and loose timbers to protect a house against flood. Writers are vulnerable creatures like anyone else. For what do they have in reality? Not sandbags, not timbers. Just a flimsy reputation and a name.

Brian W. Aldiss

Politics has been called the art of the possible, and it actually is a realm akin to art insofar as, like art, it occupies a creatively mediating position between spirit and life, the idea and reality.

Thomas Mann

Alvin had met true evil in his life, but he still persisted in thinking it was awful rare, and the word was bandied about too much by those who didn't understand what real badness was.

Orson Scott Card

Tennis taught me so many lessons in life. One of the things it taught me is that every ball that comes to me, I have to make a decision. I have to accept responsibility for the consequences every time I hit a ball.

Billie Jean King

I am sick of women who love one. Women who hate one are much more interesting.

Oscar Wilde

The sum of the inner movements which a man finds easy and as a consequence performs gracefully and with pleasure, one calls his soul; if these inner movements are plainly difficult and an effort for him, he is considered soulless.

Friedrich Nietzsche

Say not, the struggle naught availeth,The labor and the wounds are vain,The enemy faints not, nor faileth,And as things have been, they remain.If hopes are dupes, fears may be liars;It may be, in yon smoke concealedYour comrades chase e'en now the fliersAnd, but for you, possess the field.For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,Seem here no painful inch to gain,Far back, through creeks and inlets making,Comes silent, flooding in, the main.And not by eastern windows only,When daylight comes, comes in the light;In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly,But westward, look, the land is bright.

Arthur H. Clough, The Land is Br

Modernity is the transient, the fleeting, the contingent it is one half of art, the other being the eternal and the immovable.

Charles Baudelaire