Our own interests are still an exquisite means for dazzling our eyes agreeably.
The problem with people is that they're only human.
There is not enough time to do all the nothing we want to do.
Calvin: Look, a dead bird! Hobbes: It must've hit a window. Calvin: Isn't it beautiful? It's so delicate. Sighhh. . . once it's too late, you appreciate what a miracle life is. You realize that nature is ruthless and our existence is very fragile, temporary, and precious. But to go on with your daily affairs, you can't really think about that. . . which is probably why everyone takes the world for granted and why we act so thoughtlessly. It's very confusing. I suppose it will all make sense when we grow up. Hobbes: No doubt.
What's the point of wearing your favorite rocket ship underpants if nobody ever asks to see 'em?
We're so busy watching out for what's just ahead of us that we don't take time to enjoy where we are.
I asked mom if I was a gifted child. She said they certainly wouldn't have paid for me.
Elizabeth's voice had a door in it. When you opened that door you found another door, and that door opened yet another door. All the doors were nice and led out of her.
First wonder goes deepest; wonder after that fits in the impression made by the first.
Do you think I’ll ever get better at this? That my heart might someday stop trying to jump out of my chest whenever you touch me?
I think it's always funny when somebody thinks you're going to do something super sexy and then you don't.