A child is never the author of his own history.

Because it strikes me there is something greater than judgement. I think it is called mercy.

After all the world is indeed beautiful and if we were any other creature than man we might be continuously happy in it.

The human animal began as a mere wriggling thing in the ancient seas, struggling out onto land with many regrets. That is what brings us so full of longing to the sea.

It is always worth itemising happiness, there is so much of the other thing in a life, you had better put down the markers for happiness while you can.

And whatever my life had been up to that day, it was another life after that. And that is the gospel truth.

For I did not want him to see, or to question me, for here contains already secrets, and my secrets are my fortune and my sanity.

I suppose therefore God is the connoisseur of filthied hearts and souls, and can see the old, the first pattern in them, and cherish them for that.

It is always worth itemizing happiness, there is so much of the other thing in a life, you had better put down the markers of happiness while you can.

Roseanne, Roseanne, if I called to you now, my own self calling to my own self, would you hear me? And if you could hear me, would you heed me?

The trust of those in dark need is forgiving work.

They said no one knew a man as well as a woman who slept with him.

Spread yourself upon his bosom publicly, whose heart you would eat in private.

It's crazy how every guitarist is their own worst critic in many ways.

Egypt is full of dreams, mysteries, memories.

If you don't imagine, nothing ever happens at all.

Handel, to him I bow the knee.

I speak a little Spanish, so I'm able to communicate.

I'm sure nobody wants to just work and earn money and all that stuff. I know it's difficult for people to break out of the syndrome, doing a normal job.

It is said that all people who are happy have God within them.

The tension between us kicked up a notch, and I realized that along with our bodies being nearer, so were our lips.