“I could die for you. But I couldn't and wouldn't live for you.”

― Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead

topic:love life death

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“Once for all; I knew to my sorrow, often and often, if not always, that I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be.”

― Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

“Business is a noble vocation, directed to producing wealth and improving our world. It can be a fruitful source of prosperity for the areas in which it operates, especially if it sees the creation of jobs as an essential part of its service to...”

― Pope Francis, Laudato si'

“The suffering may be moral or physical; and in my opinion it is just as absurd to call a man a coward who destroys himself, as to call a man a coward who dies of a malignant fever.”

― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, The Sorrows of Young Werther

“Her coming was my hope each day,Her parting was my pain;The chance that did her steps delayWas ice in every vein.”

― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

“The increase of disorder or entropy with time is one example of what is called an arrow of time, something that distinguishes the past from the future, giving a direction to time.”

― Stephen Hawking, A Brief History of Time

“This love was a torment, and he resented bitterly the subjugation in which it held him; he was a prisoner and he longed for freedom.”

― W. Somerset Maugham, Of Human Bondage

“A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other.”

― Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

“Honor is venerable to us because it is no ephemeris. It is always ancient virtue. We worship it to-day because it is not of to-day.”

― Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance

“A minority is powerless while it conforms to the majority; it is not even a minority then; but it is irresistible when it clogs by its whole weight.”

― Henry David Thoreau, Civil Disobedience

“Joy and grief were mingled in the cup; but there were no bitter tears: for even grief itself arose so softened, and clothed in such sweet and tender recollections, that it became a solemn pleasure, and lost all character of pain.”

― Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist

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