Kinds hearts are here; yet would the tenderest one Have limits to its mercy; God has none.

Joy is like restless day; but peace divine like quiet night; Lead me, O Lord, till perfect Day shall shine through Peace to Light.

No star is lost once we have seen, We always may be what we might have been.

Dreams grow holy put in action.

One by one the sands are flowing, One by one the moments fall; Some are coming, some are going; Do not strive to grasp them all.

One by one bright gifts from heaven Joys are sent thee here below; Take them readily when given, Ready, too, to let them go.

Do no cheat thy Heart and tell her, 'Grief will pass away.'

Dreams grow holy put in action; work grows fair through starry dreaming, But where each flows on unmingling, both are fruitless and in vain.

Half my life is full of sorrow, Half of joy, still fresh and new; One of these lives is a fancy, But the other one is true.

Do not look at life's long sorrow; see how small each moment's pain.

Seated one day at the organ, I was weary and ill at ease, and my fingers wandered idly over the noisy keys. It seemed the harmonious echo from our discordant life.

Some people don’t realize what they have until it’s gone, but that does not always mean they are supposed to get it back.

Greatest quality of money is whether coming or going leave tears in the eyes of beholder.

You know, a lot of people are just interested in, in building a company so they can make money and get out.

France, for example, loves at the same time history and the drama, because the one explores the vast destinies of humanity, and the other the individual lot of man.

The ‘machine-gun’ approach to photography – by which many negatives are made with the hope that one will be good – is fatal to serious results.

I don't want to just be an actor my whole life. I mean I do want to be an actor my whole life but not only an actor, I want to be an artist.

Sports have a way of touching people.

Writing is a necessity and often a pleasure, but at the same time, it can be a great burden and a terrible struggle.

Forget not bees in winter, though they sleep.

The history of literature is the history of the human mind.