I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless; That only men incredulous of despair, half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air beat upward to god's throne in loud access of shrieking and reproach

Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love. Yet love me--wilt thou? Open thine heart wide, And fold within, the wet wings of thy dove.

Gaze up at the stars knowing that I see the same sky and wish the same sweet dreams.

My love for him was so exquisitely pure that if we all were capable of giving and receiving such a beautiful gift the world would be a far more brilliant place; I think we'd all be poets.

Souls are dangerous things to carry straight through all the spilt saltpetre of this world.

God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame.

If we tried To sink the past beneath our feet, be sure The future would not stand.