It is only through mystery and madness that the soul is revealed
The heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close.
From plants that wake when others sleep, from timid jasmine buds that keep their odour to themselves all day, but when the sunlight dies away let the delicious secret out to every breeze that roams about.
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.
Humility, that low, sweet root, from which all heavenly virtues shoot.
All that's bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest.
And soon, too soon, we part with pain, To sail o'er silent seas again.
It is only to the happy that tears are a luxury.
Romantic love is an illusion. Most of us discover this truth at the end of a love affair or else when the sweet emotions of love lead us into marriage and then turn down their flames.
What though youth gave love and roses, Age still leaves us friends and wine.
We need people in our lives with whom we can be as open as possible. To have real conversations with people may seem like such a simple, obvious suggestion, but it involves courage and risk.
Though an angel should write, still 'tis devils must print.
Bastard Freedom waves Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves.
Disguise our bondage as we will, 'Tis woman, woman, rules us still.
No, there's nothing half so sweet in life as love's young dream.
It is precisely because we resist the darkness in ourselves that we miss the depths of the loveliness, beauty, brilliance, creativity, and joy that lie at our core.
Like ships that have gone down at sea, when heaven was all tranquillity.
A friendship that like love is warm; A love like friendship, steady.
Came but for friendship, and took away love.
Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish; Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.
Fond memory brings the light of other days around me.
While mantling on the maiden's cheek Young roses kindled into thought.
This wretched brain gave way, and I became a wreck at random driven, without one glimpse of reason or heaven.
...to the soul, the most minute details and the most ordinary activities, carried out with mindfulness and art, have an effect far beyond their apparent insignificance.
My only books were woman's looks, and folly's all they've taught me.
Ask a woman's advice, and whatever she advises, Do the very reverse and you're sure to be wise.
The light, that lies In woman's eyes, Has been my heart's undoing.
When soul is neglected, it doesn't just go away; it appears symptomatically in obsessions, addictions, violence, and loss of meaning.
Oh! blame not the bard.
The basic contribution one can make to one's community is not to add to the general unconsciousness of the time.
