“The aquilegia sprinkled on the rocks A scarlet rain; the yellow violet Sat in the chariot of its leaves, the phlox Held spikes of purple flame in meadows wet, And all the streams with vernal-scented reed Were fringed, and streaky bellow of miskodeed.”

Who thinks, at night, that morn will ever be? Who knows, far out upon the central sea, That anywhere is land? And yet, a shore Has set behind us, and will rise before: A past foretells a future.

Alone each heart must cover up its dead; Alone, through bitter toil, achieve its rest.

And far and wide, in a scarlet tide, The poppy’s bonfire spread.

Learn to live, and live to learn, Ignorance like a fire doth burn, Little tasks make large return.

Although Damascus is considered the oldest city in the world, the date of its foundation going beyond tradition, there are very few relics of antiquity in or near it.

So far as female beauty is concerned, the Circassian women have no superiors. They have preserved in their mountain home the purity of the Grecian models, and still display the perfect physical loveliness, whose type has descended to us in the Venus de Medici.

Love’s humility is love’s true pride.

The hollows are heavy and dank With the steam of the Goldenrods.

He teaches best, Who feels the hearts of all men in his breast, And knows their strength or weakness through his own.

Women are not apt to be won by the charms of verse.

The healing of the world is in its nameless saints. Each separate star seems nothing, but a myriad scattered stars break up the night and make it beautiful.

Wrapped in his sad-colored cloak, the Day, like a Puritan, standeth Stern in the joyless fields, rebuking the lingering color,– Dying hectic of leaves and the chilly blue of the asters,– Hearing, perchance, the croak of a crow on the desolate tree-top.

But who will watch my lilies, When their blossoms open white? By day the sun shall be sentry, And the moon and the stars by night!

Swelling in anger or sparkling in glee.

We follow and race In shifting chase, Over the boundless ocean-space! Who hath beheld when the race begun? Who shall behold it run?

Those who would attain to any marked degree of excellence in a chosen pursuit must work, and work hard for it, prince or peasant.

Remember no matter what color your skin is if you wear a law enforcement badge, you are automatically racists according to the deranged lawless leftists.

Blue, green, grey, white, or black; smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is not silent.

It’s racist to teach children to treat other children differently because of their skin color.

At the end of the day, regardless of the color of the cast, we’re all doing the same thing in this business: trying to make a good film.

I never identified with anybody. I have always been very sensitive about my color, because everybody called me ‘yellow gal.’ I was caught in between both sides – nobody wanted me. I love that my audience is there, but I always feel as though I have to fend for myself.

I don’t want enemies. I want friends, and I want them in all shapes, sizes, and colors, and loving whoever they want to.

The ability to see reality in form, in color, in proportion, to be master of the movements of one’s own hand – that is what is necessary.

How can any one paint who cannot grade colors? How can any one write poetry who has not learnt to hear and see?