There is a material advancement; we desire it. There is, also, a moral grandeur; we hold fast to it.
No one knows like a woman how to say things which are at once gentle and deep.
A mother's arms are made of tenderness and children sleep soundly in them.
He reached for his pocket, and found there, only reality
God blesses man, not for having found but for having sought.
The aim of art is almost divine: to bring to life again if it is writing history, to create if it is writing poetry.