One enemy is too many; a hundred friends too few.

I observed once to Goethe ... that when a friend is with us we do not think the same of him as when he is away. He replied, "Yes! because the absent friend is yourself, and he exists only in your head; whereas the friend who is present has an individuality of his own, and moves according to laws of his own, which cannot always be in accordance with those which you form for yourself."

True happiness is of a retired nature and an enemy to pomp and noise; it arises, in the first place, from the enjoyment of one's self; and, in the next, from the friendship and conversations of a few select companions.

I would never turn my back on my fellow citizens.

The tragedy of our lives is that, while we suffer from the wounds afflicted on us by those who love us, we cannot avoid wounding those we want to love.

The strength of a friendship can be measured by the weight of the burden it's willing to share. (If you want to test this just ask someone to help you move.)

Then suddenly he reached out and took her hand. "Why did you do that?" she asked softly. He looked up at the snowflakes, let them fall, melt on his face, turning it shiny. "Because when it's slippery out, sometimes we just need someone to hang on to until we find our footing.

I'm safe, even if I'm a jerk." "I have friends who will hunt you down and kill you if I go missing.

They want you to know they care. They heard about Kasha. Besides, this is the Minnesota way. We demonstrate affection through hot dish.

For a second she saw the brother she'd known better than herself. Proud, strong, faithful, determined, and yes, just reckless enough to save them all.

I will always come for you. No matter what. I. Choose. You.

I don't even know what intimacy is, Pastor." "It's belonging and believing and being loving to each other. It's vulnerability to the one person you trust most. It's saying, 'Here's my ugly, battered, wounded heart. I'm going to let you see it and trust you with it.' Did you ever let her see your grief?