Nothing but heaven itself is better than a friend who is really a friend.

For a man to conquer himself is the first and noblest of all victories.

I love him to hell and back and heaven and back$$$ and have and do and will.

What I fear most$$$ I think$$$ is the death of the imagination.

I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.

I would catch sight of some flawless man off in the distance$$$ but as soon as he moved closer I immediately saw he wouldn't do at all.

What did my fingers do before they held him?<br>What did my heart do$$$ with its love?

I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.

The older you get$$$ the stronger the wind gets -- and it's always in your face.

What one does is what counts. Not what one had the intention of doing.