Sayingnothing... sometimes says the most.

Poetry is the impish attempt to paint the colour of the wind.

Unlessa man has trained himself for his chance, the chance will only make him lookridiculous.

Thesubconscious part in us is called the subjective mind, because it does notdecide and command. It is subject rather than a ruler. Its nature is to dowhat it is told, or what really in your heart of hearts you desire.

The hero's tomb is the cradle of the people

As contagion of sickness makes sickness, contagion oftrust can make trust.

We arejudged by what we finish, not what we start.

Onemust talk little and listen much.

The tormentof human frustration, whatever its immediate cause, is the knowledge that theself is in prison, its vital force and ‘mangled mind’ leaking away in lonely,wasteful self-conflict.

A large ocean liner was headed across the Atlantic fromPortsmouth to New York. As it neared its destination at night, a lookout onthe wing of the bridge reported, ‘Light, bearing on the starboardbow.’‘Is it steady or moving astern?’ the captain called out

Thetime to repair the roof is when the sun is shining.

Status symbols are medals you buy yourself