O beautiful white land, olives and wild anemone and violet mingled among the shale, and purple wings of little winter-butterflies say, here Psyche, the soul, lies.

In my garden the winds have beaten the ripe lilies; in my garden, the salt has wilted the first flakes of young narcissus.

We are voyagers, discoverers of the not-known, the unrecorded; we have no map; possibly we will reach haven, heaven.

I will be free, no lover's kiss to bind me to earth, no bliss of love to counteract actual bliss.

Dance until the earth dance.

She did not look at the daffodils. They didn't mean anything. She looked at the daffodils. She said, 'Thank you for the daffodils.

One flower may slay the winter and meet death.

You are wind in a stark tree, you are the stark tree unbent, you are a strung bow, you are an arrow.

I could not accept from wisdom what love taught, woman is perfect.

Ah love is bitter and sweet, but which is more sweet the bitterness or the sweetness, none has spoken it.

No poetic phantasy but a biological reality, a fact: I am an entity like bird, insect, plant or sea-plant cell; I live; I am alive.

Writing is like exercise. You have to work at it to see results.

Your impact on the world is significant whether or not you are aware of it, and even whether or not you desire it.

Dear Ones, Beware of the tiny gods frightened men Create To bring anesthetic relief to their sad days

That is the way of youth and life in general: that we do not understand the strategy until after the campaign is over.

For the past 9 years, the WWE has been my home!

The Internet is allowing us to get back to what's really more natural, which is that storytelling is a shared thing. It's our natural way to be communal.

I want my kids to know when I'm pissed, when I'm happy and when I'm confounded.

See me when you look at me.

I like a calm life where nobody bothers me.