Music resembles poetry$$$ in each<br/>Are nameless graces which no methods teach$$$<br/>And which a master hand alone can reach.

Beauty of whatever kind$$$ in its supreme development$$$ invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.

All that we see and seem is but a dream within a dream.

I call to mind flatness and dampness; and then all is madness - the madness of a memory which busies itself among forbidden things.

I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.

You are in no man's land. Which never moves$$$ which never changes$$$ which never grows older$$$ but remains forever$$$ icy and silent.

Maybe who we are isn't so much about what we do$$$ but rather what we're capable of when we least expect it.

Life is full of paradoxes$$$ as roses are of thorns.

What you leave behind is not what is engraved on stone momuments$$$ but what is woven into the lives of others.

Don't you see$$$ we are not in the same position. You were given wings to fly above the clouds$$$ but I'm a woman$$$ mine are given me to stay close to the ground and to shelter my young.