It's remarkable how we go on year after year, doing the same old things. We get tired and bored, and ask when they'll come for us

Lunatics have no age. If we were crazy, you and I, we might be a great deal younger.

The labor into which a heart has poured its whole love--where will it have its say, to excite and inspire, and when?

Put your soul in the palm of my hand for me to look at, like a crystal jewel. I'll sketch it in words.

People have separated from each other with walls of concrete that blocked the roads to connection and love. and Nature has been defeated in the name of development.

A poetess who had died young of cancer had said in one of her poems that for her, on sleepless nights, 'the night offers toads and black dogs and corpses of the drowned.

Now, even more than the evening before, he could think of no one with whom to compare her. She had become absolute, beyond comparison. She had become decision and fate.