It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.
Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.
Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.
Imagination is more important than knowledge.
We all die. The goal isn't to live forever, the goal is to create something that will.
If there must be trouble, let it be in my day, that my child may have peace.
Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go.
I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.
Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature.
Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.
I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.
A weak man has doubts before a decision; a strong man has them afterwards.
An earthly kingdom cannot exist without inequality of persons. Some must be free, some serfs, some rulers, some subjects.
Of course there is no formula for success, except perhaps an unconditional acceptance of life, and what it brings
Wild animals never kill for sport. Man is the only one to whom the torture and death of his fellow creatures is amusing in itself.
Men heap together the mistakes of their lives, and create a monster they call Destiny.
If we knew each other's secrets, what comforts we should find.
There is no doubt that it is around the family and the home that all the greatest virtues, the most dominating virtues of human, are created, strengthened and maintained.
These violent delights have violent ends.
A lion's work hours are only when he's hungry; once he's satisfied, the predator and prey live peacefully together.
Where we love is home - home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.
A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?
If I am what I have and if I lose what I have who then am I?
They minute people fall in love they become liars.
The prostitute is not, as feminists claim, the victim of men, but rather their conqueror, an outlaw, who controls the sexual channels between nature and culture
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