“Forgive me, Majesty. I am a vulgar man! But I assure you, my music is not.”

Source: Howl's Moving Castle

Talib Judge, p. 366
A Thousand Splendid Suns (2007)

The comic part of the character I might be equal to, but not the good, the enthusiastic, the literary. Such a man's conversation must at times be on subjects of science and philosophy, of which I know nothing; or at least be occasionally abundant in quotations and allusions which a woman who, like me, knows only her own mother-tongue, and has read little in that, would be totally without the power of giving. A classical education, or at any rate a very extensive acquaintance with English literature, ancient and modern, appears to me quite indispensable for the person who would do any justice to your clergyman; and I think I may boast myself to be, with all possible vanity, the most unlearned and uninformed female who ever dared to be an authoress.
Letter to Mr. Clarke, librarian to the Prince Regent (1815-12-11) [Letters of Jane Austen -- Brabourne Edition]
Letters

Last words http://www.nytimes.com/learning/general/onthisday/big/0823.html (April 15, 1920)

In this song Dasa’s reference to ‘cupid’ is to a mythological episode in which Shiva destroys Manmatha the demi god for hindering his penance. However, he is rescued by Parvati, Shiva’s consort and adopted as their own son Pradyumna in a rebirth in the subsequent era of Lord Krishna. This is considered as a noble act. The translated version is here.[Narayan, M.K.V., Lyrical Musings on Indic Culture: A Sociology Study of Songs of Sant Purandara Dasa, http://books.google.com/books?id=-r7AxJp6NOYC&pg=PA79, 1 January 2010, Readworthy, 978-93-80009-31-5, 89]

Source: Red Seas Under Red Skies (2007), Chapter 16 “Settling Accounts” section 3 (p. 712)

In a letter to New Life Church; published in Colorado Springs Gazette, November 5, 2006.

Source: The Dream of a Ridiculous Man (1877), IV
Context: Oh, everyone laughs in my face now, and assures me that one cannot dream of such details as I am telling now, that I only dreamed or felt one sensation that arose in my heart in delirium and made up the details myself when I woke up. And when I told them that perhaps it really was so, my God, how they shouted with laughter in my face, and what mirth I caused! Oh, yes, of course I was overcome by the mere sensation of my dream, and that was all that was preserved in my cruelly wounded heart; but the actual forms and images of my dream, that is, the very ones I really saw at the very time of my dream, were filled with such harmony, were so lovely and enchanting and were so actual, that on awakening I was, of course, incapable of clothing them in our poor language, so that they were bound to become blurred in my mind; and so perhaps I really was forced afterwards to make up the details, and so of course to distort them in my passionate desire to convey some at least of them as quickly as I could. But on the other hand, how can I help believing that it was all true? It was perhaps a thousand times brighter, happier and more joyful than I describe it. Granted that I dreamed it, yet it must have been real. You know, I will tell you a secret: perhaps it was not a dream at all!

My Specter, st. 14
1800s, Poems from Blake's Notebook (c. 1804)