I hold that we cannot be said to be aware of our minds save under resp — Thornton Wilder

"We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures."

"Literature is the orchestration of platitudes."

"Many plays — certainly mine — are like blank checks. The actors and directors put their own signatures on them."

"Love is an energy which exists of itself. It is its own value."

"Love, though it expends itself in generosity and thoughtfulness, though it gives birth to visions and to great poetry, remains among the sharpest expressions of self-interest. Not until it has passed through a long servitude, through its own self-hatred, through mockery, through great doubts, can it take its place among the loyalties."

"I would love to be the poet laureate of Coney Island."

"If it fulfills our hopes, this center will be, at once, a symbol and a reflection and a hope. It will symbolize our belief that the world of creation and thought are at the core of all civilization. Only recently in the White House we helped commemorate the 400th anniversary of Shakespeare. The political conflicts and ambitions of his England are known to the scholar and to the specialist. But his plays will forever move men in every corner of the world. The leaders that he wrote about live far more vividly in his words than in the almost forgotten facts of their own rule. Our civilization, too, will largely survive in the works of our creation. There is a quality in art which speaks across the gulf dividing man from man and nation from nation, and century from century. That quality confirms the faith that our common hopes may be more enduring than our conflicting hostilities. Even now men of affairs are struggling to catch up with the insights of great art. The stakes may well be the survival of civilization. The personal preferences of men in government are not important--except to themselves. However, it is important to know that the opportunity we give to the arts is a measure of the quality of our civilization. It is important to be aware that artistic activity can enrich the life of our people, which really is the central object of Government. It is important that our material prosperity liberate and not confine the creative spirit."

"James Burford, collier and fitter, was the oldest soldier of all. When I first spoke to him in the trenches, he said: "Excuse me, sir, will you explain what this here arrangement is on the side of my rifle?" "Thats the safety catch. Didnt you do a musketry-course at the depôt?" "No, sir, I was a re-enlisted man, and I spent only a fortnight there. The old Lee-Metford didnt have no safety-catch." I asked him when he had last fired a rifle. "In Egypt in 1882," he said. "Werent you in the South African War?" "I tried to re-enlist, but they told me I was too old, sir... My real age is sixty-three."

"‘Gerrard is an excellent player, absolutely world-class. If I was a manager, everywhere I went I would buy Steven Gerrard. ‘He is what Brazil needs, because he is always looking forward and has a big heart. ‘Two years ago I saw Gerrard play and then I saw him in Tokyo in a game against Sao Paulo. I said then that Gerrard is a great player. To me he is one of the best midfielders in the world. He is an excellent player.’"

"General Franco made it clear that Spain could enter the war only when England was about ready to collapse."

"Canada is a filthy country run by fags, which has Draconian laws making it a crime to preach the Gospel there. All of these cowardly kissy-poo preachers who telecast their milquetoast sermons into Canada have to edit out every single word critical of fags -- snip, snip, snip -- or the fag officials of Canada will arrest and criminally prosecute the Canadian affiliates, and shut down their stations! Theres no freedom of speech in Canada. Theres no freedom of religion in Canada. It is against the law to read the Bible in Canada."

"Ah well, towards happiness others will lead me With their tresses knotted to the horns of my brow: You know, my passion, that purple and just ripe, The pomegranates burst and murmur with bees; And our blood, aflame for her who will take it, Flows for all the eternal swarm of desire."