All we had was her room, her stories, and the quiet that settled in as we tried in vain to spread ourselves out and fill the space she'd left behind.
The place of justice is a hallowed place.
The human understanding is like a false mirror, which, receiving rays irregularly, distorts and discolors the nature of things by mingling its own nature with it.
Things alter for the worse spontaneously, if they be not altered for the better designedly.
It is a sad fate for a man to die too well known to everybody else, and still unknown to himself.
Lies are sufficient to breed opinion, and opinion brings on substance.
To suffering there is a limit; to fearing, none.
But nearly every woman I know has a roughly similar story - in fact, dozens of them: stories about being obsessed with a celebrity, work colleague or someone they vaguely knew for years; living in a parallel world in their head; conjuring up endless plots and scenarios for this thing that never actually happened.
All ills spring from some vice, either in ourselves or others; and even many of our diseases proceed from the same origin. Remove the vices; and the ills follow. You must only take care to remove all the vices. If you remove part, you may render the matter worse. By banishing vicious luxury, without curing sloth and an indifference to others, you only diminish industry in the state, and add nothing to men's charity or their generosity.
You're awake, you're awesome. Live like it.
Of all "rights" which command attention at the present time among us, woman's rights seem to take precedence.