We all go through the same things - it's all just a different kind of the same thing.
In writing ... remember that the biggest stories are not written about wars, or about politics, or even murders. The biggest stories are written about the things which draw human beings closer together.
Be the most you can be, so life will be more because you were.
Not having children makes less work-but it makes a quiet house.
There is good and there is bad in every human heart, and it is the struggle of life to conquer the bad with the good.
Those who never sail stormy waters are the quickest and harshest judges of bad seamanship.
We are living now.
We shall not live long.
No one should tell us we shall live again.
This is our little while.
This is our chance.
Even though you've given up a past it hasn't given you up. It comes uninvited - and sometimes half welcome.
What we seek we do not find - that would be too trim and tidy for so reckless and opulent a thing as life. It is something else we find.
A clock is a little machine that shuts us out from the wonder of time.
Resentment opens no door and breeds no courage.
Hurts of childhood live on; in one form or other they are there to the end.
That's the worst of a war--you have to go on hearing about it so long.
Some days are happy days - of themselves, as if for their own sakes. They seem to be enjoying themselves, regardless of what use may be made of them.
It is through suppression that hells are formed in us.
There's one form of immortality I like to think about. It's that all those who from the very first have given anything to the world are living in the world to-day.
What men have thought about life in the past is less important than what you feel about it to-day.
I go about in the world - free, busy, happy. Among people, I have no time to think of myself.
The only man who knows just what he thinks at the present moment is the man who hasn't done any new thinking in the past ten years.
Seems nothing draws men together like killing other men.
For nothing is so hard to hear as that which is half known, and evaded. One never denies so hotly as in denying to one's self what one fears is true, and one never resents so bitterly as in resenting that which one cannot say one has the right to resent.
I can't think of any sorrow in the world that a hot bath wouldn't help, just a little bit.
They made small effort to cover their raw souls with the mantle of commonplace words.
The facts of another's life do not illumine. Only when we know the heart can we know that life. Only the feeling that made the days can light them.
I am glad I worked on a newspaper because it made me know I had to write whether I felt like it or not.
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