The rose saith in the dewy morn, I am most fair; Yet all my loveliness is born Upon a thorn.

In the bleak midwinter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, Snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak midwinter, Long ago.

Can anything be sadder than work left unfinished? Yes, work never begun.

Hurt no living thing: Ladybird, nor butterfly, Nor moth with dusty wing.

Love came down at Christmas, Love all lovely, Love Divine; Love was born at Christmas; Star and angels gave the sign.

Be the green grass above me, with showers and dewdrops wet; and if thou wilt, remember, and if thou wilt, forget.

We must not look at goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?

My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a water'd shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit.

Choose love not in the shallows but in the deep.

What is the beginning? Love. What is the course. Love still. What the goal. The goal is love.

Silence is more musical than any song.

Here is a man whose life and actions the world has already condemned - yet whose enormous fortune...has already brought him acquittal!

What feeling is so nice as a child's hand in yours? So small, so soft and warm, like a kitten huddling in the shelter of your clasp.

Her body was rounded like earth. Stories. Breath. . . . Her eyes have been painted closed. I understand. To tell a story you must travel inward.

Stress comes from the way you relate to events or situations.

It's a lot like the Wild West out here... just with tea shops instead of saloons. Wild West Sahara, that is.

Growing old is no more than a bad habit which a busy man has no time to form.

Lord, I want to be up in my heart.

[D]ivine Providence... keeps the universe open in every direction to the soul.

I've never known a musician who regretted being one. Music itself is not going to let you down.

Let us be such as help the life of the future.