There is no sinner like a young saint.
Aphra Behn, The Rover, Act 1, Sc. 2

For, certeyn, olde dotard, by youre leve,
Ye shul have queynte right ynogh at eve.
Geoffrey Chaucer, Canterbury Tales, Wyf of Bathe

He cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision--he cried out twice, a cry that was no more than a breath: 'The horror! The horror!'
Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

Tengo miedo a perder la maravilla
de tus ojos de estatua y el acento
que de noche me pone en la mejilla
la solitaria rosa de tu aliento.
Tengo pena de ser en esta orilla
tronco sin ramas; y lo que m�s siento
es no tener la flor, pulpa o arcilla,
para el gusano de mi sufrimiento.
Si t� eres el tesoro oculto m�o,
si eres mi cruz y mi dolor mojado,
si soy el perro de tu se�or�o,
no me dejes perder lo que he ganado
y decora las aguas de tu r�o
con hojas de mi oto�o enajenado.
Federico Garc�a Lorca, Soneto de la Dulce Queja

El mundo era tan reciente, que muchas cosas carec�an de nombre, y para mencionarlas habr�a que se�alarlas con el dedo.
Gabriel Garcia M�rquez, Cien A�os de Soledad

Much he learned from her tender, supple hand. Him, who was, regarding love, still a boy and had a tendency to plunge blindly and insatiably into lust like into a bottomless pit, him she taught, thoroughly starting with the basics, about that school of thought which teaches that pleasure cannot be be taken without giving pleasure, and that every gesture, every caress, every touch, every look, every spot of the body, however small it was, had its secret, which would bring happiness to those who know about it and unleash it. She taught him, that lovers must not part from one another after celebrating love, without one admiring the other, without being just as defeated as they have been victorious, so that with none of them should start feeling fed up or bored and get that evil feeling of having abused or having been abused. Wonderful hours he spent with the beautiful and smart artist, became her student, her lover, her friend.
Herman Hesse, Siddhartha, Ch. 6

Why this is hell, nor am I out of it. Think'st thou that I who saw the face of God And tasted the eternal joys of heaven Am not tormented with ten thousand hells In being deprived of everlasting bliss?
Christopher Marlowe, Dr. Faustus, Scene III, 76-80

Every man with a bellyful of the classics is an enemy to the human race.
Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

Here at last
We shall be free;
the Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reign secure, and in my choice
To reign is worth ambition though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven.
John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book I (The Argument)

Methought I saw my late espoused saint
Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave,
Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave,
Rescu'd from death by force, though pale and faint.
Mine, as whom wash'd from spot of child-bed taint
Purification in the old Law did save,
And such as yet once more I trust to have
Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint,
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind;
Her face was veil'd, yet to my fancied sight
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shin'd
So clear as in no face with more delight.
But Oh! as to embrace me she inclin'd,
I wak'd, she fled, and day brought back my night.
John Milton, Sonnet XXIII

H�ren wir noch Nichts von dem L�rm der Todtengr�ber, welche Gott begraben? Riechen wir noch Nichts von der g�ttlichen Verwesung? - auch G�tter verwesen! Gott ist todt! Gott bleibt todt! Und wir haben ihn get�dtet!
Friedrich Nietzsche, Die Fr�hliche Wissenschaft

What is literature but an insider's newsletter about affairs relating to molecules, of no importance to anything in the Universe but a few molecules who have the disease called 'thought'.
Kurt Vonnegut, Bluebeard

I want my ham. He gonna give me my ham.
August Wilson, Two Trains Running

I have spread my dreams beneath your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams...
William Butler Yeats, He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

To deny our impulses is to deny the very thing that makes us human.
Mouse, The Matrix

THE BOOK I CAN NEVER PUT DOWN:
Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger

There can be only one.