Early, as well as late, Rise with the sun, and set in the same bowers

There is in God - some say - A deep, but dazzling darkness; as men here Say it is late and dusky, because they See not all clear. O for that Night! where I in Him Might live invisible and dim!

I saw Eternity the other night Like a great ring of pure and endless light, All calm as it was bright.

Dear beauteous death, the jewel of the just.

And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams Call to the soul when man doth sleep. So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted dreams, And into glory peep.

Death, and darkness get you packing, Nothing now to man is lacking, All your triumphs now are ended, And what Adam marred, is mended.

The skin and shell of things Though fair are not Thy wish nor prayer but got My meer despair of wings.

They are all gone into the world of light, and I alone sit lingering here.

The sun doth shake Light from his locks, and, all the way Breathing perfumes, doth spice the day.

Affliction is a mother, Whose painful throes yield many sons, Each fairer than the other.

Man is the shuttle, to whose winding quest And passage through these looms God ordered motion, but ordained no rest.

When I discover who I am, I’ll be free.

I'm human, you're human, let me greet your humanness. Let's be people together for a while.

Movies are immortal art - the first new art since Greek drama.

Triple tonguing? It was sort of invented. It wasnt in the script. It was something that I came up with.

Kind hearts are the garden, kind thoughts are the roots, kind words are the blossoms, kind deeds are the fruit.

I go inside my head and become that other me, the one I don't tell anybody about. The observer... I live in terror that one day I won't get to be Dani again.

I think the French Open, in many ways, brought out a certain characteristic in me and in my game that was already there. Just the circumstances allowed for it to be able to show.

Living in the present is the way to go.

The one thing I think you must do is, as painful as it is as a parent, is listen.

It is Proust's courtesy to spare the reader the embarrassment of believing himself cleverer than the author.