Though an angel should write, still 'tis devils must print.

A genuine odyssey is not about piling up experiences. It is a deeply felt, risky, unpredictable tour of the soul.

From plants that wake when others sleep, from timid jasmine buds that keep their odour to themselves all day, but when the sunlight dies away let the delicious secret out to every breeze that roams about.

Fond memory brings the light of other days around me.

The devil...the prowde spirite...cannot endure to be mocked.

Like ships that have gone down at sea, when heaven was all tranquillity.

You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.