Water is the soul of the Earth.

Far from his illness The wolves ran on through the evergreen forests, The peasant river was untempted by the fashionable quays; By mourning tongues The death of the poet was kept from his poems.

We must love one another or die

If there are any souls in hell, it is because that is where they insist on being.

Words are for those with promises to keep.

To the man-in-the-street, who, I'm sorry to say, is a keen observer of life. The word Intellectual suggests straight away. A man who's untrue to his wife.

Goodness is easier to recognize than to define.