Far beneath the tainted foamThat frets above our peaceful home,We dream in joy and wake in loveNor know the rage that yells above.

I saw two clouds at morning Tinged by the rising sun, And in the dawn they floated on And mingled into one.

God is its author, and not man; he laid The key-note of all harmonies; he planned All perfect combinations, and he made Us so that we could hear and understand.

Hate no one; hate their vices, not themselves.

Death has shaken out the sands of thy glass.

At church with meek and unaffected grace His looks adorn'd the venerable place Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway And fools who came to scoff remain'd to pray.

I must be cruel Only to be kind.

The Gospel never grows old. It applies to every generation alike. We have to make a choice.

I think fiction lends itself to messiness rather than the ideal, and plays well with the ironies surrounding what happens versus what should happen.

Life, struck sharp on death, Makes awful lightning.

At this moment I do not have a personal relationship with a computer.

You might be able to thrash your way out of a spiderweb, but thrashing in quicksand doesn’t work. The harder you fight, the more ground you lose. Struggling merely expedites your inevitable defeat.

We cannot continue to close our eyes to the fact that we have to truly embrace green jobs, new technologies and alternative sources of energy.

I like the feeling that I'm giving young women self-confidence. It sounds so cliched, but it can be very moving.

Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me, starlight and dewdrop are waiting for thee.