Ah when will this long weary day have end, And lend me leave to come unto my love? How slowly do the hours their numbers spend! How slowly does sad Time his feathers move!

The merry cuckow, messenger of Spring, His trumpet shrill hath thrice already sounded.

Gather the rose of love whilst yet is time.

She bathed with roses red, And violets blew. And all the sweetest flowres That in the forrest grew.

So let us love, dear Love, like as we ought; Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.

I was promised on a time To have reason for my rhyme; From that time unto this season, I received nor rhyme nor reason.

Thankfulness is the tune of angels.

All for love, and nothing for reward.

Be bold, and everywhere be bold.

For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.

Men, when their actions succeed not as they would, are always ready to impute the blame thereof to heaven, so as to excuse their own follies.

But sorrow can also be contagious. Fear is different. It isn't as communicable as laughter or sadness, and a good thing too. Fear is almost entirely a lonely thing.

Wisdom is the ability to read the unwritten.

Lulled by stupefying illusions, the world is asleep in the cradle of infancy, dreaming away the hours.

An intelligent person is never afraid or ashamed to find errors in his understanding of things.

Even your religious friends do not want to hear about God during a medical diagnosis.

I'm a dyslexic person, so I avoid books.

Go forward until the last round is fired and the last drop of gas is expended...then go forward on foot!

I was very embarrassed when my canvases began to fetch high prices. I saw myself condemned to a future of nothing but Masterpieces.

It was during a cosmetic procedure that I first had painkillers.

How, without clothes, could we possess the master organ, soul's seat and true pineal gland of the body social--I mean a purse?