Life isn't one thing after another, it's the same thing over and over.

But you, you foolish girl, you have gone home to a leaky castle across the sea to lie awake in linen smelling of lavender, and hear the nightingale, and long for me.

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.

My candle burns at both ends; it will not last the night; but ah, my foes, and oh, my friends - it gives a lovely light!

Beautiful as a dandelion-blossom golden in the green grass, this life can be.

I will be the gladdest thing under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one.

They say when you are missing someone that they are probably feeling the same, but I don't think it's possible for you to miss me as much as I'm missing you right now

There isn't a train I wouldn't take, no matter where it's going.

I am glad that I paid so little attention to good advice; had I abided by it I might have been saved from some of my most valuable mistakes.

Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind; Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave. I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

Parrots, tortoises and redwoods live a longer life than men do; Men a longer life than dogs do; Dogs a longer life than love does.

The early cars already are drawing deep breaths past my door. And last night's phrases sick with lack of basis are still writhing on my floor.

Only very brave mouse makes nest in cat's ear.

I never played politics, I was never a party girl, and I never slept with any of the producers.

There is no death! What seems so is transition; this life of mortal breath is but a suburb of the life elysian, whose portal we call Death.

I'm more than open to hope, but I think men and women have a difficult time dealing with each other and often take the low road.

Maybe science is just magic with delusions of lack of grandeur.

My perfect guy right now would be a mannequin - one that comes alive only when I need him to!

The heathen in his blindness Bows down to wood and stone.

The chrysanthemums' astringent fragrance comes Each year to disguise the clanking mechanism Of machine within machine within machine.

Happy are the painters, for they shall not be lonely. Light and colour, peace and hope, will keep them company to the end of the day.