All sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring In goodly colours gloriously arrayed; Go to my love, where she is careless laid

The merry cuckow, messenger of Spring, His trumpet shrill hath thrice already sounded.

Gather the rose of love whilst yet is time.

She bathed with roses red, And violets blew. And all the sweetest flowres That in the forrest grew.

So let us love, dear Love, like as we ought; Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.

I was promised on a time To have reason for my rhyme; From that time unto this season, I received nor rhyme nor reason.

Thankfulness is the tune of angels.

All for love, and nothing for reward.

Be bold, and everywhere be bold.

For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.

Men, when their actions succeed not as they would, are always ready to impute the blame thereof to heaven, so as to excuse their own follies.

I can almost picture the disciples faces. "No, not the drink-my-blood speech! We'll never get on the list of fastest-growing movements if you keep asking them to eat you!

I could not be a poet without the natural world. Someone else could. But not me. For me the door to the woods is the door to the temple.

If you stay here, you become lost. And no one can find you. I like lost.

the horizon bounded by a propitious sky, azure, marbled with pearly white.

Computers don't kill books; people do.

She brought me a crow's feather...," he whispered.

People love leverage when it's working. I mean, it's so easy to borrow money from a guy at X and put it out at X.

I have kind of an existential crisis. I'm in my late 20s, I get excited by contemporary young culture, but at the same time, I don't want to be the 40-year-old DJ in the club.

Yes I had to dress up in drag but what fun. And now I feel like a real lady.

We seldom learn the true want of what we have till it is discovered that we can have no more.