“Just trust your instincts. There's an old saying in golf, you've studied the swing many times, and you practice and practice, but when you stand over the ball, you just have to trust your swing. And you trust it. And if you don't trust it, you'll ruin it; your brain will take over.”

“We don't even know who's in the Academy.”

“The only black battalion on Iwo Jima was a small munitions supply unit that came to the beach.”

“Naturally, everybody has certain things they wish they hadn't done in life. They wish they hadn't kicked their dog when they were ten or something.”

“What Trump is onto is, he's just saying what's on his mind. And sometimes it's not so good. And sometimes it's... I mean, I can understand where he's coming from, but I don't always agree with it.”

“...his wartime experience had taught him to trust his instincts, even though he'd never been sure where they'd come from.”

“As we grow older, we live more coarsely, we relax a little in our disciplines, and, to some extent, cease to obey our finest instincts. But we should be fastidious to the extreme of sanity, disregarding the gibes of those who are more unfortunate than ourselves.”

“Few of us have vitality enough to make any of our instincts imperious.”

“Nor age so eat up my invention.”

“Ideas are the very coinage of your brain.”

“Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long / To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?”

“Determine on some course more than a wild exposure to each chance.”

“Hasty work and premature decisions may lead to penalties out of all proportion to the issues immediately involved.”

“There is no working middle course in wartime.”

“Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep.”

“No, no, no, no! Come, let's away to prison: We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage: When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down, And ask of thee forgiveness: so we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues Talk of court news; and we'll talk with them too, Who loses and who wins; who's in, who's out; And take upon's the mystery of things, As if we were God's spies: and we'll wear out, In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones, That ebb and flow by the moon.”

“More matter with less art.”