I don't believe in God, but I do believe in His saints.

He had her in his arms, her face like a wet flower at his lips, and all their vain terrors shriveling up like ghosts at sunrise.

We ought to be opening a bottle of wine!

I was just a screw or cog in the great machine I called life, and when I dropped out of it I found I was of no use anywhere else.

Blessed are the pure in heart for they have so many more things to talk about.

And you'll sit beside me, and we'll look, not at visions, but at realities.

Wherein lies a poet's claim to originality? That he invents his incidents? No. That he was present when his episodes had their birth? No. That he was first to repeat them? No. None of these things has any value. He confers on them their only originality that has any value, and that is his way of telling them." Mark Twain "...every literature, in its main lines, reflects the chief characteristics of the people for whom, and about whom, it is written.