But you were something more than young and sweet And fair, - and the long year remembers you.

But you, you foolish girl, you have gone home to a leaky castle across the sea to lie awake in linen smelling of lavender, and hear the nightingale, and long for me.

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.

My candle burns at both ends; it will not last the night; but ah, my foes, and oh, my friends - it gives a lovely light!

Beautiful as a dandelion-blossom golden in the green grass, this life can be.

I will be the gladdest thing under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one.

They say when you are missing someone that they are probably feeling the same, but I don't think it's possible for you to miss me as much as I'm missing you right now

There isn't a train I wouldn't take, no matter where it's going.

I am glad that I paid so little attention to good advice; had I abided by it I might have been saved from some of my most valuable mistakes.

Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind; Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave. I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

Parrots, tortoises and redwoods live a longer life than men do; Men a longer life than dogs do; Dogs a longer life than love does.

A joyful soul, a grateful spirit full of love and light!

The lights disappear, The elevator shudders, Stalls, Quits. All in the same nanosecond. All that exists is darkness so thick I can't think, And Travis so close I can't breathe.

Every stage of life must be well-lived.There are sacred moments to treasure in each stage.

I tried to push him away with my head. I apologise to everyone. I should not have got involved in it.

The end of lower art is to please, the end of average art is to raise the top, the end of superior art is to free.

With a higher moral nature will come a restriction on the multiplication of the inferior.

The creative writer uses his life as well as being its victim; he can control, in his work, the self-presentation that in actuality is at the mercy of a thousand accidents.

Misery motivates, not utopia.

One little lie or dishonest act leads to another until the perpetrator is caught in the web of deceit.

In all my years as a news commentator I was never once, able to tell the truth, about anything.