To keep your marriage brimming, With love in the loving cup, Whenever you're wrong, admit it; Whenever you're right, shut up.
I think my love of truth and honesty forces me to notice that the liberal intelligentsia of Western countries is betraying itself where Islam is concerned.
In working on a poem, I love to revise. Lots of younger poets don't enjoy this, but in the process of revision I discover things.
More and more the world is growing to love a lover, and one has only to read the newspapers to see how sympathetic are the times to any generous and adventurous display of the passions.
Annual plants are nature's emergency medical service, seeded in sounds and scars to hold the land until the perennial cover is re-established.
Poetry and progress are like two ambitious men who hate one another with an instinctive hatred, and when they meet upon the same road, one of them has to give place.
He was one of those men who possess almost every gift, except the gift of the power to use them.
The savior who wants to turn men into angels is as much a hater of human nature as the totalitarian despot who wants to turn them into puppets.
He who is cruel to animals becomes hard also in his dealings with men. We can judge the heart of a man by his treatment of animals.
Power! Did you ever hear of men being asked whether other souls should have power or not? It is born in them.
It is the nature of the artist to mind excessively what is said about him. Literature is strewn with the wreckage of men who have minded beyond reason the opinions of others.
Politicians are easy to attack, but frankly, we are all guilty of not meeting the needs of Africa's young people properly.
Evil is only imperfection, that which is not complete, which is becoming, but has not yet found its end.
There is much, of course, in the exclusive claims of Christianity which make it hostile to other faiths.
The Buddha over and over again spoke clearly and definitely on post-mortem states - as in his conversation with Vasetta.
Authority without wisdom is like a heavy axe without an edge,fitter to bruise than polish." [ ]
This only grant me, that my means may lie too low for envy, for contempt too high.
For things to have value in man's world, they are given the role of commodities. Among man's oldest and most constant commodity is woman.
I'm concerned about a lot of serious border issues. This book is about the border reality and the struggles of the undocumented worker.
Whither depart the souls of the brave that die in the battle, Die in the lost, lost fight, for the cause that perishes with them?
May I a small house and large garden have; And a few friends, And many books, both true.
