“My spirit is sad – I carry the tears of my ancestors.”

Everyone knows their true calling – it’s burning inside them.

We all break our rules for love.

Love is the music of life.

Let everything go, let gratitude take you to new heights.

Only the moon knows all the secrets I tell her about you.

I am the messenger of my ancestors.

You made me believe I had to be perfect to be loved.

I can’t un-feel the trauma – it’s in my blood.

Love is the strongest force in the world – the reason god created everything.

If I was left with even less, but had him, then I’d still have everything.

Only god can bring dry bones back to life.

My weakness was loving you before loving myself.

Conditional love is not love.

Broken glass taught me there is something so beautiful in shattering.

Letting go is an art – master it and be free.

Only the moon knows all the secrets I tell her about you.

But if people want to swim in the Thames, if they want to take their lives into their own hands, then they should be able to do so with all the freedom and exhilaration of our woad-painted ancestors.

Ancestor worship, or filial piety so characteristic of Asian cultures, for example, does not really resonate with Americans who favor children, not grandparents.

After all, our families–our ancestors–are our identities. Biology is destiny.

We are all motivated far more than we care to admit by characteristics inherited from our ancestors which individual experiences of childhood can modify, repress, or enhance, but cannot erase.

We live always under the weight of the old and odious customs… of our barbarous ancestors.

Like our ancestors, we act in ways that will bemuse future societies.

Birth is nothing without virtue, and we have no claim to share in the glory of our ancestors unless we endeavor to resemble them.

Offspring, the due performance on religious rites, faithful service, highest conjugal happiness and heavenly bliss for the ancestors and oneself, depend on one’s wife alone.