Children are like soft petals. One wrong pluck and they are damaged forever.

In their innocence, very young children know themselves to be light and love. If we will allow them, they can teach us to see ourselves the same way.

What innocence, may I ask, is being played here when it is known that this virtuous damsel has already got a dozen illegitimate children?

The chambers in the house of dreams Are fed with so divine an air, That Time's hoary wings grow young therein, And they who walk there are most fair.

An atheist is a man who believes himself to be an accident

Nothing begins and nothing ends That is not paid with moan; For we are born in other's pain, And perish in our own