“From plants that wake when others sleep, from timid jasmine buds that keep their odour to themselves all day, but when the sunlight dies away let the delicious secret out to every breeze that roams about.”

Like ships that have gone down at sea, when heaven was all tranquillity.

Oh! blame not the bard.

The heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close.

The light, that lies In woman’s eyes, Has been my heart’s undoing.

Bastard Freedom waves Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves.

Came but for friendship, and took away love.

Romantic love is an illusion. Most of us discover this truth at the end of a love affair or else when the sweet emotions of love lead us into marriage and then turn down their flames.

Disguise our bondage as we will, ‘Tis woman, woman, rules us still.

It is only to the happy that tears are a luxury.

Humility, that low, sweet root, from which all heavenly virtues shoot.

Though an angel should write, still ’tis devils must print.

And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers is always the first to be touch’d by the thorns.

A pretty wife is something for the fastidious vanity of a roue to retire upon.

This wretched brain gave way, and I became a wreck at random driven, without one glimpse of reason or heaven.

My only books were woman’s looks, and folly’s all they’ve taught me.

Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish; Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.

But you haven’t never loved God nor even nair person. You hard and tough as cowhide. But just the same I knows you. This afternoon you going to roam all over the place without never being satisfied.

I abhor, too, the roaming lover, nor do I drink from every well; I loathe all things in common.

Illness sets the mind free sometimes to roam and surmise.

Every beauty mark, a country to roam. Every stretch mark, a river to cross.

Every day you wake up is an opportunity to go beyond, and that ‘s why I let my band go right now. For the first time in my life I’m just roaming around, vagabonding.

I think life has got to develop as you get older, and I don’t want to be wandering along doing the same old thing. I want more out of life.

Make the sky your home let your soul roam.

My heart roams in the wild. A place where there is always room to grow.