I can't sleep without knowing there's hope. Half the night I waste in sighs. In a wakeful doze I sorrow. For the hands, for the lips... the eyes. For the meeting of tomorrow.

A louse in the locks of literature.

if you don't concentrate on what you are doing then the thing that you are doing is not what you are thinking.

Shall love be blamed for want of faith?

Launch your vessel, And crowd your canvas, And, ere it vanishes Over the margin, After it, follow it, FollowThe Gleam.

Her eyes are homes of silent prayers.

Sweet is every sound, sweeter the voice, but every sound is sweet.