The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.
Surrealism is destructive, but it destroys only what it considers to be shackles limiting our vision.
Rhyme, that enslaved queen, that supreme charm of our poetry, that creator of our meter.
The more you like yourself, the less you are like anyone else, which makes you unique.
People create stories create people; or rather stories create people create stories.
Be like a tree and let the dead leaves drop.
The idea of freedom is inspiring. But what does it mean? If you are free in a political sense but have no food, what's that? The freedom to starve?
A lot of people don't realize that depression is an illness. I don't wish it on anyone, but if they would know how it feels, I swear they would think twice before they just shrug it.
Worry is the interest paid by those who borrow trouble.
You are 27 or 28 right? It is very tough to live at that age. When nothing is sure. I have sympathy with you.
I think we're having fun. I think our customers really like our products. And we're always trying to do better.
If from Society we learn to live Tis Solitude should teach us how to die; It hath no flatterers.
To turn really interesting ideas and fledgling technologies into a company that can continue to innovate for years, it requires a lot of disciplines.
No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another.
Children show me in their playful smiles the divine in everyone.
So many women just don't know how great they really are. They come to us all vogue outside and vague on the inside.
Rich men's houses are seldom beautiful, rarely comfortable, and never original. It is a constant source of surprise to people of moderate means to observe how little a big fortune contributes to Beauty.
It is the story that owns and directs us. It is the thing that makes us different from cattle; it is the mark on the face that sets one people apart from their neighbors.
Any product that needs a manual to work is broken.
When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.
All is mine but nothing owned, nothing owned for memory, and mine only while I look.
