Nobody likes being alone that much. I don’t go out of my way to make friends, that’s all. It just leads to disappointment.
Books are the quietest and most constant of friends; they are the most accessible and wisest of counselors, and the most patient of teachers.
You’re going to come across people in your life who will say all the right words at all the right times. But in the end, it’s always their actions you should judge them by. It’s actions, not words, that matter.
True friends are always together in spirit.
Do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?
I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them a great deal.
Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read.
I had already found that it was not good to be alone, and so made companionship with what there was around me, sometimes with the universe and sometimes with my own insignificant self; but my books were always my friends, let fail all else.
There is no friend as loyal as a book.
I am awfully greedy; I want everything from life. I want to be a woman and to be a man, to have many friends and to have loneliness, to work much and write good books, to travel and enjoy myself, to be selfish and to be unselfish… You see, it is difficult to get all which I want. And then when I do not succeed…
It gives me strength to have somebody to fight for; I can never fight for myself, but, for others, I can kill.
It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends.
Must you go? I was rather hoping you’d stay and be a ministering angel, but if you must go, you must.” “I’ll stay,” Will said a bit crossly, and threw himself down in the armchair Tessa had just vacated. “I can minister angelically.” “None too convincingly. And you’re not as pretty to look at as Tessa is,” Jem said, closing his eyes as he leaned…
Don’t walk in front of me… I may not follow Don’t walk behind me… I may not lead Walk beside me… just be my friend
Some birds are not meant to be caged, that’s all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild. So you let them go, or when you open the cage to feed them they somehow fly out past you. And the part of you that knows it was wrong to imprison them in the first place rejoices, but still, the place where you…
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