That great brow And the spirit-small hand propping it.

My sun sets to rise again.

Autumn wins you best by this its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.

Grow old with me! The best is yet to be.

Take away love and our earth is a tomb.

Stung by the splendour of a sudden thought.

Motherhood: All love begins and ends there.

Man partly is and wholly hopes to be.

I trust in nature for the stable laws of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant and autumn garner to the end of time.

It was roses, roses, all the way, With myrtle mixed in my path like mad.

Hand Grasps at hand, eye lights eye in good friendship, And great hearts expand And grow one in the sense of this world's life.

If every library is in some sense a reflection of its readers, it is also an image of that which we are not, and cannot be.

Explore your sacred mind.

Give a moment or two to the angry young man with his foot in his mouth and his heart in his hand.

Asking someone to describe what something sounds like is like telling a blind person to guess what I look like.

If you like Texas and you like our economy, I helped create all that and all those jobs and you will love it when David Dewhurst goes to Washington.

Everything you read in newspapers is absolutely true, except for that rare story of which you happen to have first-hand knowledge.

With Jack Abramoff under indictment, a number of readers have suggested that now he might flip and try to offer the feds some figures higher up the food-chain.

Getting the job done has been the basis for the success my company has achieved.

There's a lot of personal stuff that can go into songwriting but there's also a lot of dramatization and fictionalization. You have to do that to make a good song.

Nobody with me at sea but myself.