And of a Sunday swarm the folkUnder the honeysuckle vine, Quaffing, the while they talk and smoke, The sun, the melody, the wine.

For Art alone is great:The bust survives the state, The crown the potentate.

Things perish. Gods have passed.But song sublimely castShall citadels outlast.

Hungry party-goers?! Diabolical!

Where is Christ Jesus writings on the walls of the Church?

Artificial manners vanish the moment the natural passions are touched.

Word gets around when the circus comes to town, don't it?

Regardless of the situation at hand, the answer is always found through your inner peace.

We do not judge, we believe that we are all beautiful intelligent expressions of GOD here on this planet.

I secretly understood: the primitive appeal of the hearth. Television is - its irresistible charm - a fire.

I'm gonna be the first hip-hop designer and because of that, I'm gonna be bigger than Walmart.

Who would find out that I am a natural fool if I kept always cool and never let nature come to the surface? Nobody.

I am pretty bow-legged. It's annoying.