Whoever lives true life, will love true love.

Don't get me wrong-painting's all right. But now that we have photography, what's the point?

And Marlowe, Webster, Fletcher, Ben, Whose fire-hearts sowed our furrows when The world was worthy of such men.

The soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,And placed it by thee on a golden throne,-- And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!)Is by thee only, whom I love alone.

Whoever lives true life, will love true love.

Who so loves believes the impossible.

You're something between a dream and a miracle.