Do you hear the children singing?

Are we no greater than the noise we make Along one blind atomic pilgrimage Whereon by crass chance billeted we go Because our brains and bones and cartilage Will have it so?

Life is the game that must be played.

Two kinds of gratitude: The sudden kind we feel for what we take; the larger kind we feel for what we give.

The world is a kind of spiritual kindergarten where millions of bewildered infants are trying to spell "God" with the wrong blocks.

No matter what we are, and what we sing, Time finds a withered leaf in every laurel

I shall have more to say when I am dead.

For when a woman is left too much alone, sooner or later she begins to think; and no man knows what then she may discover.

And thus we all are nighing The truth we fear to know: Death will end our crying For friends that come and go.

Love must have wings to fly away from love, And to fly back again.

Shake the tree of life itself and bring down fruits unheard of.

There is no language like the Irish for soothing and quieting.

Consummate talent and relentless passion - The Truth ain't pretty...but it rocks like crazy!

All reasoning ends in an appeal to self-evidence.

I didn't have that many friends my first few years of high school. It was very cliquey and I'm super shy, so it was hard to make friends.

I feel at home up in the air, just like sailors do at sea and climbers do in the mountains.

Any man who would walk five miles through the snow, barefoot, just to return a library book so he could save three cents - that's my kind of guy.

Some parents let kids "learn on their own skin" and many of those kids end up, as adults, languishing on their parents' sofas.

Life is the power that's greater than I can ever comprehend. The way life runs through everything, even the tiniest elements of nature - that makes me humble.

Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten, Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold, Let it be forgotten forever and ever, Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.

Blest is that nation whose silent course of happiness furnishes nothing for history to say.