For Nature is love, and finds haunts for true love, Where nothing can hear or intrude; It hides from the eagle and joins with the dove, In beautiful green solitude.

If life had a second edition, how I would correct the proofs.

Language has not the power to speak what love indites: The soul lies buried in the ink that writes.

I found the poems in the fields And only wrote them down

Love lives with Nature, not with lust. Go find her in the flowers.

The best way to avoid a bad action is by doing a good one, for there is no difficulty in the world like that of trying to do nothing.

The present is the funeral of the past, And man the living sepulchre of life.

I ne'er was struck before that hour with love so sudden and so sweet. Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower and stole my heart away complete

Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air; Whoever looks round sees Eternity there.

I long for scenes where man has never trod;... There to abide with my Creator, God.

I never saw so sweet a face. As that I stood before. My heart has left it dwelling place ... and can return no more.

Thoughts are nothing but cause and effect.

People are of two types, they are either your brothers in faith or your equals in humanity.

All of life like a series of tableaux, and in the living we missed so much, hid so much, left so much undone and unsaid.

I am a post-mastectomy woman who believes our feelings need voice in order to be recognized, respected, and of use.

[Peter Norman] was a man of principle and pride, had a strong moral character.

There is no profit in deceit. An honest man knows revenge is not sweet.

Money is the last enemy that shall never be subdued. While there is flesh there is money or the want of money, but money is always on the brain so long as there is a brain in reasonable order.

Giving your book to Hollywood is like turning your daughter over to a pimp.

Dancing is like bank robbery, it takes split-second timing.

His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise.