I have a garden of my own, But so with roses overgrown, And lilies, that you would it guess To be a little wilderness.

But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near.

Therefore the love which us doth bind, But fate so enviously debars, Is the conjunction of the mind, And opposition of the stars.

Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.

Had we but world enough, and time, this coyness, lady, were no crime.

Self-preservation, nature's first great law, all the creatures, except man, doth awe.

The world in all doth but two nations bear- The good, the bad; and these mixed everywhere.

Art indeed is long, but life is short.

The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.

And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept their time.

Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run

Stop to appreciate the moments. Summed up, they are the bricks of our soul.

Don't wait to be compelled to do great work.

Live, Love and be grateful you are capable of it.

…you guessed that somewhere, in heaven knew what country and what guise, there was someone who was part of your body and your brain, and that without him you were lost, a straw blown by the wind.

I wish you all the aloneness you hunger for.

Don't get bitter, just get better.

I don't want to be a luvvie actor. It took a long time for me to accept I was an actor, a professional actor, and that, actually, I make a living out of this.

I probably seem like not a particularly nice person, not a girl's girl.

The present has its élan because it is always on the edge of the unknown and one misunderstands the past unless one remembers that this unknown was once part of its nature.

Every intelligent person, whether hes an artist or not - a mathematician, a doctor, a scientist - possesses a poetic way of seeing and describing the world.