I not only want to be loved, I want to be told that I'm loved.
The scornful nostril and the high head gather not the odors that lie on the track of truth.
Our thoughts are often worse than we are.
I will to make life less bitter for a few within my reach.
Imagination is a licensed trespasser: it has no fear of dogs, but may climb over walls and peep in at windows with impunity.
Time, like money, is measured by our needs.