Tragedy

What matters, therefore, is not the meaning of life in general, but rather the specific meaning of a person's life at a given moment.

There is none to question Me if I do not act; there is nothing I would lose if I do not engage in activity. Nor have I any great urge to be active. But yet, you see Me very active. The reason is, I must be doing something all the time, for your sake, as an example, as an inspiration, as a piece of training.

The truth is not simply what you think it is; it is also the circumstances in which it is said, and to whom, why, and how it is said.

Anger is the enemy which takes one’s life. Anger is enemy with the face of a friend. Anger is like a very sharp sword. Anger destroys everything.

Alas, irreverence has been subsumed by mere grossness, at least in the so-called mass media. What we have now--to quote myself at my most pretentious--is a nimiety of scurrility with a concomitant exiguity of taste. For example, the freedom (hooray!) to say almost anything you want on television about society's problems has been co-opted (alas!) by the freedom to talk instead about flatulence, orgasms, genitalia, masturbation, etc., etc., and to replace real comment with pop-culture references and so-called "adult" language. Irreverence is easy--what's hard is wit.

We are constantly thinking of the great war… which we think to-day as a war which saved the Union, and it did indeed save the Union, but it was a war that did a great deal more than that. It created in this country what had never existed before — a national consciousness. It was not the salvation of the Union, it was the rebirth of the Union.

I think people are entitled to march without a permit. When you have a few hundred thousand people on the street you have permission.

Ah, this thou shouldst have done and not have spoke on ’t! In me ’tis villainy, in thee ’t had been good service. Thou must know, ’tis not my profit that does lead mine honor; mine honor, it. Repent that e’er thy tongue hath so betrayed thine act. Being done unknown, I should have found it afterwards well done, but must condemn it now. Desist, and drink. Antony and Cleopatra, Act ii, Scene 7

An honest woman's son, for indeed my father did something smack, something grow to, he had a kind of taste.

And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges.

And yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together now-a-days.

Ay, sir, and wherefore; for they say every why hath a wherefore. The Comedy of Errors (Dromio of Syracuse at II, ii)

But there is no such man; for, brother, men can counsel and speak comfort to that grief which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it, their counsel turns to passion, which before would give preceptial medicine to rage, fetter strong madness in a silken thread, charm ache with air and agony with words. Much Ado About Nothing, Act v, Scene 1

By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad--and is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench? PRINCE HENRY: As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle--and is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance? Henry IV, Part I, Act 1

Cut him out in little stars. Romeo and Juliet, Act iii, Scene 2

Death, a necessary end, will come when it will come. Julius Caesar, Act ii, Scene 2

Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not that when the searching eye of heaven is hid behind the globe, that lights the lower world, then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen in murders and in outrage boldly here; but when from under this terrestrial ball he fires the proud tops of the eastern pines and darts his light through every guilty hole, then murders, treasons, and detested sins, the cloak of night being plucked from off their backs, stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? Richard II, Act iii, Scene 2

Wisdom and goodness are twin-born, one heart must hold both sisters, never seen apart.

The petty cares, the minute anxieties, the infinite littles which go to make up the sum of human experience, like the invisible granules of powder, give the last and highest polish to a character.

O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded. My affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.