Autumn, in his leafless bowers, is waiting for the winter's snow.

For all sad words of tongue and pen, The saddest are these, 'It might have been'.

A little smile, a word of cheer, A bit of love from someone near, A little gift from one held dear, Best wishes for the coming year. These make a merry christmas!

Through this broad street, restless ever, ebbs and flows a human tide, wave on wave a living river; wealth and fashion side by side; Toiler, idler, slave and master, in the same quick current glide.

Swan flocks of lilies shoreward lying, In sweetness, not in music, dying.

Along the river's summer walk, The withered tufts of asters nod; And trembles on its arid stalk the hoar plum of the golden-rod.

Alas for him who never sees The stars shine through his cypress-trees Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play!

All the windows of my heart I open to the day.

Behind the cloud the starlight lurks, Through showers the sunbeams fall; For God, who loveth all his works, Has left his Hope with all.

If thou of fortune be bereft, and in thy store there be but left two loaves, sell one, and with the dole, buy hyacinths to feed thy soul.

Green calm below, blue quietness above.

Narcissism makes people incapable of looking beyond themselves, beyond their own desires and needs.

We don't always get what we want. And sometimes, when we do, it's not worth the price.

My religion is humanitarianism, which is the basis of every religion in the world.

It's difficult to feel that people are looking at you in the street. I don't like the fuss.

It is doubtful whether the oppressed ever fight for freedom. They fight for pride and power-power to oppress others.

By the time I'd grown up, I naturally supposed that I'd grown up

The young do not demand omniscience. They know it is unattainable. They do demand sincerity.

Don’t complain about being unable to afford high-quality local food when your grocery cart is full of beer, cigarettes, and People magazine.

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent.

Is this a fit time, said my father to himself, to talk of Pensions and Grenadiers?