our can'ts were born to happen our mosts have died in more

Unless you love someone, nothing else makes any sense.

Love is the voice under all silences, the hope which has no opposite in fear; the strength so strong mere force is feebleness: the truth more first than sun, more last than star.

Treat a man like dirt-he produces flowers.

If 180 million people want to be undead, that’s their funeral, but I happen to like being alive.

Yours is the light by which my spirit's born: - you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.

somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence; in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near