Beauty without the beloved is a like a sword through the heart.

I have been here before, But when or how I cannot tell: I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the lights around the shore. ... You have been mine before, How long ago I may not know: But just when at that swallow's soar Your neck turned so, Some veil did fall - I knew it all of yore. Has this been thus before? And shall not thus time's eddying flight Still with our lives our love restore In death's despite, And day and night yield one delight once more

Sometimes thou seem'st not as thyself alone, But as the meaning of all things that are.

It is beautiful, the world, and life itself. I am glad I have lived.

Your eyes smile peace.

The worst moment for the atheist is when he is really thankful and has nobody to thank.

Places that are empty of you are empty of life.