These struggling tides of life that seem In wayward, aimless course to tend, Are eddies of the mighty stream That rolls to its appointed end.

The air was fragrant with a thousand trodden aromatic herbs, with fields of lavender, and with the brightest roses blushing in tufts all over the meadows.

Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings.

The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky Are all asleep to-night.

It is said to be the manner of hypochondriacs to change often their physician.

Hark to that shrill, sudden shout, The cry of an applauding multitude, Swayed by some loud-voiced orator who wields The living mass as if he were its soul!

But 'neath yon crimson tree Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame.

Autumn, the year's last, loveliest smile.

There is a day of sunny rest For every dark and troubled night; And grief may hide an evening guest, But joy shall come with early light.

The groves were God's first temples.

To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.

Everyone is good if you see from good side.

Some people just needed to be stolen from.

I was bred and raised in a multi-cultural music background.

The market is perfectly well supplied at the moment but spare capacity is very limited.

To be quite honest, I'm not religious.

The mystic lives and looks; and speaks the disconcerting language of first-hand experience.

It gets like this in Liverpool when you're on the ferry and the sun reflects off the Mersey.

Home alone with a wakeful newborn, I could shower so quickly that the mirror didn't fog and the backs of my knees stayed dry. The one-minute hair conditioner was too slow for me.

Keep your analysis pure and virtuous.

The leap is made by dropping vanity over knowledge and by a willingness to become nothing in order to become everything.