Our imagination flies -- we are its shadow on the earth.

Our riches$$$ being in our brains$$$ die with us... Unless of course someone chops off our head$$$ in which case$$$ we won't need them anyway.

If you find God with great ease$$$ perhaps it is not God you have found.

The beginning of love is to let those we love be perfectly themselves$$$ and not to twist them to fit our own image. Otherwise we love only the reflection of ourselves we find in them.

Neither a lofty degree of intelligence nor imagination nor both together go to the making of genius. Love$$$ love$$$ love$$$ that is the soul of genius.

If my heart could do my thinking$$$ <br>And my head begin to feel$$$ <br>I would look upon the world anew$$$ <br>And know what's truly real.

We will be judged by how well we love.

Grownups don't pay it much attention because they can't imagine anything more majestic to a child than their own selves and so confused dependance for reverence.

Art invites us to know beauty and to solicit it$$$ summon it$$$ from even the most tragic of circumstances.

Death is a sure thing but life is just as certain. Problem is you can't know in advance.