From thought to thought, from mountain peak to mountain. Love leads me on; for I can never still My trouble on the world's well beaten ways.
Books can warm the heart with friendly words and counsel, entering into a close relationship with us which is articulate and alive
And tears are heard within the harp I touch.
To be able to say how much love, is love but little.
Hope is incredible to the slave of grief.
Death is a sleep that ends our dreaming. Oh, that we may be allowed to wake before death wakes us.