It's not important to me that people understand me.

Come up and be a kite, On a diamond flight!

Everyone of us has a heaven inside.

I just know that something good is going to happen. I don't know when - but just saying it could even make it happen.

Its so fascinating to think about how each snowflake is completely individual - there are millions and millions of them, but each one is so unique.

I love the whirling of the dervishes. I love the beauty of rare innocence. You don't need no crystal ball, Don't fall for a magic wand. We humans got it all, we perform the miracles.

I had friends but I was spending a great deal of my time alone and for me that was vital because there's an awful lot you learn about yourself when you're alone.

What am I singing? A song of seeds The food of love. Eat the music.

I spend a lot of my time looking at blue, The colour of my room and my mood.

I don’t know you, And you don’t know me. It is this that brings us together.

Mozart didn't have Pro Tools, but he did a pretty good job.

Let your imagination takes you to where you wish to be.

It is not about how much money we make or how big and powerful our work appears to others, it is about the love with which we put into each act of kindness toward another human being.

She was never satisfied with anything less than perfection, but she was no grind. She was too interested in people.

I think people hear the question they want to hear.

Because the twentieth century was a century of violence, let us make the twenty-first a century of dialogue.

For the Soul of France is masterful history, brilliantly researched, and hard to put down.

Behold a silly tender babe,In freezing winter night,In homely manger trembling lies;Alas! a piteous sight.

The soul of music slumbers in the shell Till waked and kindled by the master's spell; And feeling hearts, touch them but rightly, pour A thousand melodies unheard before!

I thought that spring must last forevermore, For I was young and loved, and it was May.

The fame which bids fair to live the longest resembles that which Horace attributes to Marcellus, whose progress he compares to the silent, imperceptible growth of a tree.