In the sixties everyone you knew became famous. My flatmate was Terence Stamp. My barber was Vidal Sassoon. David Hockney did the menu in a restaurant I went to. I didn't know anyone unknown who didn't become famous.

If I were dying my last words would be: Have faith and pursue the unknown end.

Have no fear of moving into the unknown. Simply step out fearlessly knowing that I am with you therefore no harm can befall you all is very very well. Do this in complete faith and confidence.

Faith and doubt both are needed - not as antagonists but working side by side to take us around the unknown curve.

The world is divided into two categories: failures and unknowns.

Failure is a word unknown to me.

By the fourth grade I graduated to an erector set and spent many happy hours constructing devices of unknown purpose where the main design criterion was to maximize the number of moving parts and overall size.

Design is an unknown.

Perhaps we don't need these religious concoctions to pillow the fear of death. Just the fact that there is an unknown and something greater can bring a feeling of peace. That's enough for me.

Life inspires more dread than death - it is life which is the great unknown.

Birth and death we all move between these two unknowns.

The work an unknown good man has done is like a vein of water flowing hidden underground secretly making the ground green.

Every article on these islands has an almost personal character which gives this simple life where all art is unknown something of the artistic beauty of medieval life.

All nature is but art unknown to thee.

It is the unknown that excites the ardor of scholars who in the known alone would shrivel up with boredom.