Does a rose exist that I might behold it? Or do I exist that a rose might be beheld?

There is a limit to how much you can change to be liked for who you really are.

One of the great logical puzzles is how a woman is always like her mother but never like her sister.

The last I heard from my destiny, it wanted me to make a legal U-Turn at my next opportunity.

If there be no God, then what is truth but the average of all lies.

I wish to die knowing that I took a fleeting instant of eternity and fashioned from it a lifetime.

History is man's best guess as to what the past would look like if everything had happened in chronological order.