O youth whose hope is high, Who dost to Truth aspire, Whether thou live or die, O look not back nor tire.

I know that if odour were visible, as colour is, I'd see the summer garden in rainbow clouds.

When men were all asleep the snow came flying, In large white flakes falling on the city brown, Stealthily and perpetually settling and loosely lying, Hushing the latest traffic of the drowsy town.

Were I a cloud I'd gather My skirts up in the air, And fly I well know whither, And rest I well know where.

When first we met we did not guess that Love would prove so hard a master.

So sweet love seemed that April morn, when first we kissed beside the thorn, so strangely sweet, it was not strange we thought that love could never change.

And whiter grows the foam, The small moon lightens more; And as I turn me home, My shadow walks before.

But I can tell - let truth be told - That love will change in growing old; Though day by day is nought to see, So delicate his motions be.

All things therefore are charged with love, are charged with God and if we knew how to touch them give off sparks and take fire, yield drops and flow, ring and tell of him.

Beauty, the eternal Spouse of the Wisdom of God and Angel of his Presence thru' all creation.

O soul, be patient: thou shalt find A little matter mend all this; Some strain of music to thy mind, Some praise for skill not spent amiss.

What is Love? It is a long followed companionship of two souls.

When you get to your mid-20s, you start to feel responsibilities for the things that you do and the people around you. It's a cool age.

A person's fears are lighter when the danger is at hand.

I'm very open to dating and finding a guy.

Looking on the bright side of life never killed anybody.

Giving Papa time to think, as Arty put it, was like pumping random rounds into a fireworks factory. The odds favored dramatic results.

At school I was always trying to con my teachers into letting me act out book reports instead of writing them.

Modesty once lost, never returns into favour.

For there are many great deeds done in the small struggles of life.

There is no regional art. The only region left is the art magazine.