A life without love, without the presence of the beloved, is nothing but a mere magic-lantern show. We draw out slide after slide, swiftly tiring of each, and pushing it back to make haste for the next.
Who longs in solitude to live, Ah! soon his wish will gain: Men hope and love, men get and give, and leave him to his pain.
A king there was once reigning, Who had a goodly flea, Him loved he without feigning, As his own son were he!
Whenever I hear people talking about liberal ideas, I am always astounded that men should love to fool themselves with empty sounds. An idea should never be liberal; it must be vigorous, positive, and without loose ends so that it may fulfill its divine mission and be productive. The proper place for liberality is in the realm of the emotions.
We can't form our children on our own concepts; we must take them and love them as God gives them to us.
That is the true season of love, when we believe that we alone can love, that no one could ever have loved so before us, and that no one will love in the same way as us.
Neatness begets order but from order to taste there is the same difference as from taste to genius, or from love to friendship.
When you doubt between words, use the plainest, the commonest, the most idiomatic. Eschew fine words as you would rouge; love simple ones as you would the native roses on your cheek.
I love meeting famous people. I'm even happy just looking at them.
My life isn't that dramatic. My dad really loves me, he just can't talk on the phone. He's too crippled and shy, and that's almost harder. He's there and he loves me, and I try and try and try, it's just impossible to have a relationship.
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