Does a rose exist that I might behold it? Or do I exist that a rose might be beheld?
Nature decrees that we do not exceed the speed of light. All other impossibilities are optional.
Stay out of the court of self-judgment, for there is no presumption of innocence.
A child seldom needs a good talking to as a good listening to.
There is an ongoing battle between conscience and self-interest in which, at some point, we have to take sides.
Sometimes I wonder — if I were drop-dead handsome, and every woman I met actually dropped dead, would I ever get tired of it?