Tolerance is the uncomfortable feeling that in the end the other could be right.

A true sonnet goes eight lines and then takes a turn for better or worse and goes six or eight lines more.

Suddenly, quietly, you realize that - from this moment forth - you will no longer walk through this life alone. Like a new sun this awareness arises within you, freeing you from fear, opening your life. It is the beginning of love, and the end of all that came before.

Half the world is composed of people who have something to say and can't, and the other half who have nothing to say and keep on saying it.

Families break up when they get hints you don't intend and miss hints that you do.

Ah, when to the heart of man Was it ever less than a treason To go with the drift of things, To yield with a grace to reason, And bow and accept the end Of a love or a season?

He is all pine and I am apple orchard. My apple trees will never get across And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him. He only says, "Good fences make good neighbors.