I've always written songs for the sake of my own sanity and expression.
He is a Patron who looks down, With careless eyes on men who drown; But if they chance to reach the land, Encumbers them with helping hand
Time goes, you say? Ah, no! alas, time stays, we go.
All passes, Art alone Enduring stays to us; The Bust out-lasts the throne,-- The coin, Tiberius.
O, Love's but a dance, Where Time plays the fiddle! See the couples advance - O, Love's but a dance! A whisper, a glance, "Shall we twirl down the middle?" O, Love's but a dance, Where Time plays the fiddle!
The ladies of St. James's! They're painted to the eyes; Their white is stays for ever, Their red it never dies; But Phyllida, my Phillida! Her colour comes and goes; It trembles to a lily,-- It wavers to a rose.
Love comes unseen; we only see it go.
Philosophy and the arts are but a manifestation of the intelligible ideas that move the public mind; and thus they become visible images of the nations whence they emanate.
Even someone who works with me, like this girl who works with me, her name is Sue. She lives with me and holds the fort; she takes care of all these little things. She takes care of the money situation, and I would not be able to live without someone like that.
You forget who submits, Eva,” he said gruffly. “I’ve given up control for you. I’ve bent and adjusted for you. I’ll do anything to keep you and make you happy. But I can’t be tamed or topped. Don’t mistake indulgence for weakness.
Why do some people fall out of activity. . . for the same reason that they fall out of bed. . . they are not far enough in it.