Hope has two beautiful daughters; their names are Anger and Courage. Anger at the way things are, and Courage to see that they do not remain as they are.

We should never use the truth to wound.

Where love is, what can be wanting? Where it is not, what can possibly be profitable?

Once for all, then, a short precept is given thee: Love, and do what thou wilt: whether thou hold thy peace, through love hold thy peace; whether thou cry out, through love cry out; whether thou correct, through love correct; whether thou spare, through love do thou spare: let the root of love be within, of this root can nothing spring but what is good.

What am I then, my God? What is my nature? A life varied, multifaceted and truly immense.

I was not yet in love, yet I loved to love...I sought what I might love, in love with loving.

Late have I loved you, O Beauty ever ancient and ever new! Late have I loved you! And, behold, you were within me, and I out of myself, and there I searched for you.

Of this I am certain, that no one has ever died who was not destined to die some time. Now the end of life puts the longest life on a par with the shortest. . . . And of what consequence is it what kind of death puts an end to life, since he who has died once is not forced to go through the same ordeal a second time? They, then, who are destined to die, need not be careful to inquire what death they are to die, but into what place death will usher them.

Let us sing a new song, not with our lips, but with our lives.

The world is a great book, of which they that never stir from home read only a page.

It is love that asks, that seeks, that knocks, that finds, and that is faithful to what it finds.

What does love look like? It has the hands to help others. It has the feet to hasten to the poor and needy. It has eyes to see misery and want. It has the ears to hear the sighs and sorrows of men. That is what love looks like.

Men go abroad to wonder at the heights of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motions of the stars, and they pass by themselves without wondering.

Beauty grows in you to the extent that love grows, because charity itself is the soul's beauty.

Love all men, even your enemies; love them, not because they are your brothers, but that they may become your brothers. Thus you will ever burn with fraternal love, both for him who is already your brother and for your enemy, that he may by loving become your brother.

The bond between true lovers is as close as we come to what endures forever.

What you love, you will love. What you undertake you will complete. You are a fulfiller of hope; you are to be relied on. But seventeen years give little armor against despair...Consider, Arren. To refuse death is to refuse life.

A profound love between two people involves, after all, the power and chance of doing profound hurt.

I am living in a nightmare, from which from time to time I wake in sleep.

If it were proven that there is no God there would be no religion. ...But also if it were proven that there is a God, there would be no religion.

All or nothing at all, the true lover says, and that's the truth of it. My love will never die, he says. He claims eternity. And rightly. How can it die when it's life itself? What do we know of eternity but the glimpse we get of it when we enter in that bond?

The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty; not knowing what comes next.

Love doesn't just sit there, like a stone; it has to be made, like bread, remade all the time, made new.

No man, no power, can bind the action of wizardry or still the words of power. For they are the very words of Making, and one who could silence them could unmake the world.