Old Time$$$ in whose banks we deposit our notes<br>Is a miser who always wants guineas for groats;<br>He keeps all his customers still in arrears<br>By lending them minutes and charging them years.

Love is the master-key that opens the gates of happiness$$$ of hatred$$$ of jealousy$$$ and$$$ most easily of all$$$ the gate of fear.

For the simplicity on this side of complexity$$$ I wouldn't give you a fig. But for the simplicity on the other side of complexity$$$ for that I would give you anything I have.

What refuge is there for the victim who is oppressed with the feeling that there are a thousand new books he ought to read$$$ while life is only long enough for him to attempt to read a hundred?

The best of a book is not the thought which it contains$$$ but the thought which it suggests; just as the charm of music dwells not in the tones but in the echoes of our hearts.

I'm quite convinced that cooking is the only alternative to film making. Maybe there's also another alternative$$$ that's walking on foot.

My lungs taste the air of Time blown past falling sands.

We tend to become like the worst in those we oppose.

It's easier to be terrified by an enemy you admire.

You know it's love when you want to give joy and damn the consequences.