Why stay we on earth except to grow?

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.

Where they burn books, at the end they also burn people

Everyone thinks that teachers are automatically above the taught The teachers are the taught.

Silence, it appears, is not the opposite of sound. It is another world altogether, literally offering a deeper level of thought, a journey to the bedrock of the self.

A quiet conscience makes one strong!

The sparrows are preparing for winter, each one dressed in a plain brown coat and singing a cheerful song.

... what a fatal thing in pictures, books, or human lives, is a lack of proportion.

The process is not simply of constructing a new tonal from scratch, but reordering the one you have.

It's freezing up here. What did you use to keep warm?" "Indignation," said Michelangelo. "Best fuel I know. Never burns out.

Let us be practical and ask the question: How do we love our enemies?

To try to write love is to confront the muck of language: that region of hysteria where language is both too much and too little, excessive and impoverished.