“Your hands find me my skin has been waiting for this, for hands that speak with tenderness.”

Love her faults knowing she is a flower growing.

Give your heart time it is a gentle thing.

She carried the sun in her smile with her every day felt like summer.

Keep blooming the flowers look beautiful on you.

Let the confidence in your abilities eat away your doubts.

Your mind resembles the galaxies with all its raging complexities.

Though starting over may seem hard you have the strength to make it far.

If pride wears us both our love will see no growth.

Rise like the morning sun and let the good be done.

Be kind to others for no reason be the sun in their rainy season.

Look at what our love has done, its seized the fire from the sun.

Let go of control let the joy unfold.

She grew flowers in his heart where once lay darkness.

When it’s meant for you, you won’t have to fight for it to stay.

No one can help you love yourself. The healing starts with you.

Water yourself with love so the seeds in you may grow.

Discourtesy is unspeakably ugly to me.

Before one can walk as Christ walked, and talk as He talked, he must first begin to think as Christ thought.

We evolved the ability to communicate disappointment to teach those around us good manners

A woman has got to be able to say, and not feel guilty, ‘Who am I, and what do I want out of life?’ She mustn’t feel selfish and neurotic if she wants goals of her own, outside of husband and children.

The test of a good letter is a very simple one. If one seems to hear the other person talking as one reads, it is a good letter.

Posterity gives to every man his true honor. [Lat., Suum cuique decus posteritas rependet.]

Let us speak, though we show all our faults and weaknesses, – for it is a sign of strength to be weak, to know it, and out with it – not in a set way and ostentatiously, though, but incidentally and without premeditation.

Thou hast evoked in me profounder spells than the evoking one, thou face! For me, thou hast uncovered one infinite, dumb, beseeching countenance of mystery, underlying all the surfaces of visible time and space.