The most important questions in life can never be answered by anyone except oneself.

Our accepting what we are must always inhibit our being what we ought to be.

You put up with your voice and speak with it because you haven't any choice. But it's what you say that counts.

Medieval theologians used to dispute how the angels in the heaven spent their time, when not balancing on needle points and singing anthems to the Lord. I know. They slump glued to their clouds, glasses at the ready, as the Archangel Micheal (that well-known slasher) and stonewalling St Peter open against the Devils XI. It could not be Heaven, otherwise.

One degrades oneself sometimes in the effort not to be lonely.

An easterly is the most disagreeable wind in Lyme Bay — Lyme Bay being that largest bite from the underside of England's outstretched southwestern leg — and a person of curiosity could at once have deduced several strong probabilities about the pair who began to walk down the quay at Lyme Regis, the small but ancient eponym of the inbite, one incisively sharp and blustery morning in the late March of 1867.

That is the great distinction between the sexes. Men see objects, women see the relationships between objects.