“I wish no living thing to suffer pain.”

There is no disease, bodily or mental, which adoption of vegetable diet, and pure water has not infallibly mitigated, wherever the experiment has been fairly tried.

Sometimes it’s better to put love into hugs than to put it into words. Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.

When my cats aren’t happy, I’m not happy. Not because I care about their mood but because I know they’re just sitting there thinking up ways to get even.

Away, away, from men and towns, To the wild wood and the downs, – To the silent wilderness, Where the soul need not repress Its music.

The more we study the more we discover our ignorance.

I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, when the winds are breathing low, and the stars are shining bright.

The pleasure that is in sorrow is sweeter than the pleasure of pleasure itself.

Life may change, but it may fly not; Hope may vanish, but can die not; Truth be veiled, but still it burneth; Love repulsed, – but it returneth!

Rise like Lions after slumber In unvanquishable number- Shake your chains to earth like dew Which in sleep had fallen on you Ye are many-they are few.

The howl of self-interest is loud but the heart is black which throbs solely to its note.

The young moon has fed Her exhausted horn With the sunset’s fire.

History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.

Dust to the dust! but the pure spirit shall flow Back to the burning fountain whence it came, A portion of the Eternal.

Poets, not otherwise than philosophers, painters, sculptors, and musicians, are, in one sense, the creators, and, in another, the creations, of their age.

Love’s very pain is sweet.

A single word even may be a spark of inextinguishable thought.

The meek may inherit the earth, but they wont get the ball from me.

He was the blessing that came into her life. She was the gift that he found. The universe brought them into each others lives. Destiny would find a way to bring them together. And they would find their way to each other.

All people have is hope. That’s what brings the next day and whatever that day may bring. A hope grounded in the real world of living, friendship, work, family.

All of our lives we seem to be searching for something only to find it was there all along.

I have loved my work, I have loved people and my play, but always I have been uplifted by the thought that what I have done well will live long and justify my life, that what I have done ill or never finished can now be handed on to others for endless days to be finished, perhaps better than I could have done.

We live in a world that is like art painted by the light in so many colors.

Your head is a living forest full of songbirds.

The problem, of course, was that [he] saw the world in black and white. And he got to decide what was black and what was white. You can’t love a person who lives that way without fearing him too. Maybe even hating him a little.