"Captain Billings," he drawled finally, "if you will pardon my candor, I might remark that you are something of an ass, don't you know."

"Captain Billings," he drawled finally, "if you will pardon my candor, I might remark that you are something of an ass."

Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my years? O that he were here to write me down an ass! But masters, remember that I am an ass. Though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass. No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow, and which is more, an officer, and which is more, a householder, and which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Messina, and one that knows the law, go to . . . and one that hath two gowns, and everything handsome about him. Bring him away. O that I had been writ down an ass!

They should call the good man an ass! They should call the bad ass a man! ]]Ironically]] … to speak thus of you, so smart, friend of the old and the young, of the stream and the butterfly, of the sun and the dog, of the flower and the moon, patient and thoughtful, melancholic and lovable, the Marcus Aurelius of the fields…

"Jane: "St John dresses well. He is a handsome man: tall, fair, with blue eyes and a Grecian profile."

Rochester:(Aside) "Damn him!" (To me) "Did you like him, Jane?

"Your Grace," he said, when he and Cersei were alone, "I was wondering. Are you drunk, or merely stupid?"

At 50 a man can be an ass without being an optimist but not an optimist without being an ass.

Socrates, on being insulted in the marketplace, asked by a passerby, “Don’t you worry about being called names?” retorted, “Why? Do you think I should resent it if an ass had kicked me?”

"That man is … odd," I dared say to William.
"He is, or has been, in many ways a great man. But for this very reason he is odd. It is only petty men who seem normal."

My thoughts ran a wool-gathering; and I did like the countryman who looked for his ass while he was mounted on his back.

Was it Jesus you saw a picture of?” he says and looks up at me. If it had not been for the friendly voice and the long pause before the question, I would have thought he was making fun of me. He finds it a little embarrassing that I am a Christian; all he wants is for me not to be different from the other kids, and of all the kids in the neighbourhood, his youngest son is the only one to call himself a Christian.
But he is really wondering about this.
I feel a flutter of joy because he actually cares, and at the same time I become a bit offended that he underestimates me like that.
I shake my head.
“It wasn’t Jesus,” I say.

I felt amazingly confident, — it’s not particularly pleasant recalling that I was an ass.

I didn’t mind being a goof if only he loved me. I felt when we were together that I walked in the gutter and he on the sidewalk. All I did was keep looking up to see if there was love in his eyes

“I don’t doubt you’re serious,” he said wonderingly. “What I doubt is your sanity.”