The voices of cold reason were talking, as usual, to deaf ears.

Too much trust is folly, in an imperfect world.

Only people who're positive enough to have friends have enemies. When you're as glum and morose as he was, people just give up and go away.

One century's saint is the next century's heretic ... and one century's heretic is the next century's saint. It is as well to think long and calmly before affixing either name to any man.

Youth is no less vulnerable, by the very quality it has of making the heart ache that beholds and has lost it.

Life goes not in a straight line, lad, but in a circle. The first half we spend venturing as far as the world's end from home and kin and stillness, and the latter half brings us back, by roundabout ways but surely, to that state from which we set out.

Even a saint may take pleasure, in retrospect, in having been once desired