Till the sun grows cold And the stars are old And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold.

And far and wide, in a scarlet tide, The poppy's bonfire spread.

Pansies in soft April rains Fill their stalks with honeyed sap Drawn from Earth's prolific lap.

I love thee, I love but thee, With a love that shall not die.

From the desert I come to thee, On a stallion shod with fire; And the winds are left behind In the speed of my desire.

But who will watch my lilies, When their blossoms open white? By day the sun shall be sentry, And the moon and the stars by night!

By wisdom wealth is won; but riches purchased wisdom yet for none.

With rushing winds and gloomy skies The dark and stubborn Winter dies: Far-off, unseen, Spring faintly cries, Bidding her earliest child arise; March!

The hollows are heavy and dank With the steam of the Goldenrods.

The knowledge of my sin Is half-repentance.

The loving are the daring.

Roots never get the appreciation that a flower does, but that doesn’t make them envious.

Happy, Healthy, Wealthy, and Wise, for the rest of our days till the end of our lives.

the cemetery is the home of those who are not here, come in.

From where we stand the rain seems random. If we could stand somewhere else, we would see the order in it.

Whenever he felt like giving up, plopping himself down, and dying (which was, like, every ten minutes), he reached over and took her hand, just to remember there was warmth in the world.

Sometimes, it is an external force that makes you realize your real potential.

I would rather teach drawing that my pupils may learn to love nature, than teach the looking at nature that they may learn to draw.

I wouldn't say I'm a ball hog. I'm a shooter.

In childhood, we yearn to be grown-ups. In old age, we yearn to be kids. It just seems that all would be wonderful if we didn't have to celebrate our birthdays in chronological order.

I think of myself as a very lazy writer, though other people see it differently.