We've arranged a civilization in which most crucial elements profoundly depend on science and technology.

Sometimes only a change of viewpoint is needed to convert a tiresome duty into an interesting opportunity.

Contentment is natural wealth, luxury is artificial poverty.

Construed as turf, home just seems a provisional claim, a designation you make upon a place, not one it makes on you. A certain set of buildings, a glimpsed, smudged window-view across a schoolyard, a musty aroma sniffed behind a garage when you were a child, all of which come crowding in upon your latter-day senses -- those are pungent things and vivid, even consoling. But to me they are also inert and nostalgic and unlikely to connect you to the real, to that essence art can sometimes achieve, which is permanence.

A noble man compares and estimates himself by an idea which is higher than himself, and a mean man, by one lower than himself. The one produces aspiration, the other ambition, which is the way in which a vulgar man aspires.

She 's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; She is a woman, therefore to be won. -King Henry VI. Part I. Act v. Sc. 3.

Baseball is a game where a curve is an optical illusion, a screwball can be a pitch or a person, stealing is legal and you can spit anywhere you like except in the umpire's eye or on the ball.

That man's best works should be such bungling imitations of Nature's infinite perfection, matters not much; but that he should make himself an imitation, this is the fact which Nature moans over, and deprecates beseechingly. Be spontaneous, be truthful, be free, and thus be individuals! is the song she sings through warbling birds, and whispering pines, and roaring waves, and screeching winds.

Doctor, doctor, my hair's coming out.Can you give me something to keep it in?Certainly - how about a paper bag?

Imagination is intelligence having fun.

Indecision is debilitating; it feeds upon itself; it is, one might almost say, habit-forming. Not only that, but it is contagious; it transmits itself to others.

Who has not marveled at the might of kings When voyaging down the river of dead years? What deeds of death to still an hour of fears, What waste of wealth to gild a moth's frail wings! A Caesar to the breeze his banner flings, An Alexander with his bloody spears, A Herod heedless of his people's tears! And Rome in ruin while Nero laughs and sings: Ye actors of a drama, cruel and cold, Your names are by-words in Love's temple now, Your pomp and glory but a winding-sheet; Then Christ came scorning regal power and gold To wear warm blood-drops on a willing brow, And we, in love, forever kiss His feet.

Honor lies in honest toil.

There is a need to find and sing our own song, to stretch our limbs and shake them in a dance so wild that nothing can roost there, that stirs the yearning for solitary voyage.

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; For thou must die.

Nothing can work me damage except myself.

Back in the brown shoe days.

A foe is New York's Governor Pataki of every child, animal and tree Iraqi.

Discord occasions a momentary distress to the ear, which remains unsatisfied, and even uneasy, until it hears something better.

I slept like a baby, I woke up and cried every two hours.