When a man is denied the right to live the life he believes in, he has no choice but to become an outlaw.
You can choose your friends but you sho’ can’t choose your family, an’ they’re still kin to you no matter whether you acknowledge ’em or not, and it makes you look right silly when you don’t.
You don’t get to choose if you get hurt in this world, old man, but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices.
You make the mistake of thinking you have to choose, that you have to do what you want, that there are conditions for happiness. What matters – all that matters, really – is the will to happiness, a kind of enormous, everpresent consciousness. The rest – women, art, suecess – is nothing but excuses. A canvas waiting for our embroideries.
To stand in front of a person who is your whole world and be told you are not enough. You are not the choice. You are a shadow to the person who is your sun.
To choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to choosing immobility as a means of transportation.
Power is in tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing.
No one is born evil, just like no one is born alone. They become that way, through choice and circumstance.