All Grown-ups Were Once Children... But Only

War Is Not An Adventure. It Is A Disease. It Is Like Typhus.

Nothing Can Match The Treasure Of Common Memories.

Perhaps Creativity Is Fumbling That Dance Step, Or Driving The Chisel The Wrong Way Into The Stone.

It Is Only With The Heart That One Can See Rightly.

I Have No Right, By Anything I Do Or Say, To Demean A Human Being In His Own Eyes. What Matters Is Not What I Think Of Him; It Is What He Thinks Of Himself. To Undermine A Man's Self-respect Is A Sin.