What we call fate does not come into us from the outside, but emerges from us.
The Chollerick drinkes, the Melancholick eats, the Flegmatick sleepes.
Prayer should be the key of the day and the lock of the night.
He that hath not the craft, let him shut up shop.
A discontented man knowes not where to sit easie.
He that commits a fault, thinkes every one speakes of it. [He that commits a fault thinks everyone speaks of it. ]
Thou who hast given so much to me, give me one more thing. . . a grateful heart!
Life, never deciding to master anything in particular.
I have time to write 1-2 novels per year, and get roughly novel-sized ideas every month. I have to perform triage on my own writing impulses.
Poetry, is the insulation that lies between the inner walls of the mind.
Doing good is the only certainly happy action of a man's life.