“The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth: Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes, She scans the future with the eye of gods.”

Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.

Habit rules the unreflecting herd.

Faith is a passionate intuition.

Strongest minds are often those whom the noisy world hears least.

From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed.

Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge – it is as immortal as the heart of man.

Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.

I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Prompt to move but firm to wait – knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.

And I am happy when I sing.

As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.

But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise,O Nature! we are thine.

A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light.

But He is risen, a later star of dawn.

Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.

He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure; No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.

I was born to chase peace and love wild things. I was born a beautiful bohemian paradox.

The day I made peace with my pain was the day I was born again.

I think my soul was born with wings; it’s always restless, it won’t sit still.

Nothing gives us a greater idea of our soul, than that God has given us, at the moment of our birth, an angel to take care of it.

After traveling through fourteen foreign countries and appearing before all the royalty and nobility I have only one wish today. That is that when my eyes are closed in death that they will bury me back in that quiet little farm land where I was born.

She was a restless soul, born with black wings and gypsy heart.

A man is born alone and dies alone; and he experiences the good and bad consequences of his karma alone; and he goes alone to hell or the Supreme abode.

Creatives are neither born nor created. They are activated.