Rain. Tumble, bumble and, fall on me. Any old day, any old way. Come for a visit, or come for a stay. Rain, rain, don't go away.

Just because you're breathing, doesn't mean you're alive.

Becoming a man means doing the right thing even though it may be hard or difficult. Boys do what is easiest. A man does what is right, whether easy or not.

Only you can know the difference between your wants and your needs, and your sacrifice of your life's time to both.

Reading teaches us the nuances of humanity. To find the beauty of what is moral and ethical in your own actions and discover the strange subtlety of what it is to question why you should exist.

A good man lives for the joy in life and the happiness of being alive, not shackled to the wants of the future or the regrets of the past.

You know there's got to be a better way of life - somewhere, sometime, somehow - but you're not exactly sure what better is.

Sometimes we make being happy so difficult. And being thankful such a chore.

Time. Either you are for it or against it. So be here now. Not later.

Sometimes I feel as if I'm only a doorman awaiting the arrival of her royal majesty.

I gather the last remnants of the evening’s breeze, so cool and lazy within my arms, feeling it curl up like a small and innocent kitten.

True beauty springs from the heart and dwells in the eyes.

Photograph speaks every language

A woman is a deep Ditch, said he, her House inclines to Death and her Paths unto the Devil

There was one who thought himself above me, and he was above me until he had that thought.

Truth I have no trouble with, it's the facts I get all screwed up.

These critics organize and practice in my case a sort of obsessive personality cult which philosophers should know how to question and above all, to moderate.

I am still a socialist. I am a left-of-center politician. I believe that in Africa, if you see the poverty around us, you can't afford to be anything else.

O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still; Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill While the jolly hours lead on propitious May.

A ruler should be slow to punish and swift to reward.

I cannot speculate on what our cluttered mind will save- sleepy Sundays, or a nosebleed after love. I know only the dying heart needs the nourishment of memory to live beyond too many winters.