When I died last, and, Dear, I die As often as from thee I go Though it be but an hour ago, And lovers' hours be full eternity.

No Spring nor Summer beauty hath such grace As I have seen in one Autumnal face.

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent.

Death comes equally to us all, and makes us all equal when it comes.

Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

Busy old fool, unruly Sun, why dost thou thus through windows and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers seasons run?

Twice or thrice had I loved thee before I knew thy face or name, so in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, angels affect us oft, and worshiped be.

What gnashing is not a comfort, what gnawing of the worm is not a tickling, what torment is not a marriage bed to this damnation, to be secluded eternally, eternally, eternally from the sight of God?

Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

More than kisses, letters mingle souls.

When one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language.

Singing is the sound of the soul.

There are powers inside of you which, if you could discover and use, would make of you everything you ever dreamed or imagined you could become.

Through His Spirit, the Spirit of prayer, our life may be one of continual prayer. The Spirit of prayer will help you become an intercessor, asking great things of God for those around you.

At moments we are all artists.

I have traveled with Jessy Dixon for the past several years and never have I been with an artists with more heart. He is the real thing.

If reason is a universal faculty, the decision of the common mind is the nearest criterion of truth.

Truth alone can stand the guns of criticism.

You got a million drug laws now because the bosses figured there was more money in putting people in jail than taxing something anyone can grow on a window sill.

The authors who affect contempt for a name in the world put their names to the books which they invite the world to read.

The more we become civilized, the more we simultaneously understand our need to be virtuous, and our need to understand our experiences on a subconscious level.