My soul is full of whispered song,-My blindness is my sight;The shadows that I feared so longAre full of life and light.

There's nothing so kingly as kindness, and nothing so royal as truth.

Coldly and capriciously the slanting sunbeams fall.

Even for the dead I will not bind my soul to grief, death cannot long divide; for is it not as if the rose that climbed my garden wall had bloomed the other side?

Every life is meant to help all lives; each man should live for all men's betterment.

How many lives we live in one, And how much less than one, in all.

Women and men in the crowd meet and mingle, Yet with itself every soul standeth single.

Shut up the door: who loves me must not look / Upon the withered world, but haste to bring / His lighted candle, and his story-book, / And live with me the poetry of spring.

He who loves best his fellow-man, is loving God the holiest way he can.

Yea, when mortality dissolves, Shall I not meet thine hour unawed? My house eternal in the heavens Is lighted by the smile of God!

Nothing in this low and ruined world bears the meek impress of the Son of God so surely as forgiveness.

Appreciate the sacred life you have, it is a gift from God.

Individuation is to divest the self of false wrappings.

Will speechless for once, a glass of water frozen halfway to his lips

I'm interested in the structure of art and how it works. And the content is also interesting, but I don't want to keep the same structure and just plug in new content every week.

The angles even Draw strength from gazing on its glance, Though none its meaning fathom may; The world's unwither'd countenance Is bright as at creation's day.

We do not become righteous by doing righteous deed but, having been made righteous, we do righteous deeds.

I've repeated it 100 times and I'm going to look you in the eye, tonight, Mr. Couillard: there will be no referendum as long as Quebecers aren't ready.

Yes, and even for the past...that it will turn out to have been all right for what it was. Something I can accept. Mistakes made by the self I had to be or was not able to be.

I'm trying to find a character that's my age and I can sustain week after week. I'd like to do a series.

Come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy, That one short minute gives me in her sight