To this generation I would say: Memorize some bit of verse of truth or beauty.

Work for your own soul's sake.

To put meaning in one's life may end in madness, But life without meaning is the torture Of restlessness and vague desire-It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.

In time you shall see Fate approach you In the shape of your own image in the mirror.

Immortality is not a gift, Immortality is an achievement; And only those who strive mightily Shall possess it.

To love is to find your own soul Through the soul of the beloved one.

There is the silence of age, too full of wisdom for the tongue to utter it in words intelligible to those who have not lived the great range of life.

The tongue may be an unruly member-- But silence poisons the soul.

The snows and the roses of yesterday are vanished; And what is love but a rose that fades?

I have known the silence of the stars and of the sea. And the silence of the city when it pauses, And the silence of a man and a maid, And the silence for which music alone finds the word.

Those who first oppose a good work, seize it and make it their own, when the cornerstone is laid and memorial tablets are erected.

Iona stared at me for a long time. “You are going to leave me a widow before I have a chance to become a bride.

Happiness is a resultant of the relative strengths of positive and negative feelings rather than an absolute amount of one or the other.

Funny how when your life is mostly bullshit, you turn off feeling. Sometimes it's hard to turn it back on again.

People need hard times and oppression to develop psychic muscles.

As a mom, I always feel I have to protect them. I talk about them because they are the most important things in my life but they are private people. I won't use them for my own press.

People are fascinated by evil because it's mysterious and it doesn't seem to have a rational behind it.

Sirens wailed; the revolution had come to Harrisonville. Blood was flowing on Pearl Street.

Kierkegaard was once asked, 'What is a poet?' He answered that a poet was an unhappy man whose moans and cries of anguish were transformed into ravishing music.

Yes it was chaos, working through chaos, you never quite knew what you were going to do each day, but you knew that you wanted to make something.

He wears the rose Of youth upon him.