My soul, be satisfied with flowers, with fruit, with weeds even; but gather them in the one garden you may call your own.

All my laurels you have riven away, and my roses; yet in spite of you, there is one crown I bear away with me... One thing without stain, unspotted from the world, in spite of doom mine own! And that is... my white plume.

A kiss, when all is said, what is it? A rosy dot placed on the 'I' in loving; Tis a secret told to the mouth instead of to the ear.

My heart always timidly hides itself behind my mind. I set out to bring down stars from the sky, then, for fear of ridicule, I stop and pick little flowers of eloquence.

I would die at the stake rather than change a semi-colon!

Speak to me...be eloquent, be brilliant for me. Improvise! Rhapsodize!... I ask for cream and you give me milk and water... Please gather your dreams together into words. - Roxanne, Cyrano de Bergerac

You must believe me when I believe, and not when I doubt.