Too Much Trust Is Folly, In An

What Are Wits For Unless A Man Uses Them?

You'll Never Get To Be A Saint If You Deny The Bit Of The Devil In You.

Every Spring Is The Only Spring, A Perpetual Astonishment.

If Ever You Do Go Back, What Is It You Want Of Evesham?" "do I Know? [...] The Silence, It Might Be ... Or The Stillness. To Have No More Running To Do ... To Have Arrived, And Have No More Need To Run. The Appetite Changes. Now I Think It Would Be A Beautiful Thing To Be Still.

It Takes A Lot To Wound A Man Without Illusions.