The cry of the soul is for freedom. It longs for liberty, from the date of its first conscious moments.
Our way is where God knows And Love knows where: We are in Love's hand to-day.
Body and spirit are twins: God only knows which is which.
Today will die tomorrow.
I remember the way we parted, The day and the way we met; You hoped we were both broken-hearted And knew we should both forget.
I am tired of tears and laughter, And men that laugh and weep Of what may come hereafter For men that sow to reap: I am weary of days and hours, Blown buds of barren flowers, Desires and dreams and powers And everything but sleep.
For winter's rains and ruins are over, And all the season of snows and sins; The days dividing lover and lover, The light that loses, the night that wins; And time remembered isgrief forgotten, And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
Your religion is what you do when the sermon is over.
I still found literary criticism to be a suspect activity
Which is both gross and breathtakingly romantic. He could always have just gone upstairs and brushed his teeth, but he stayed and lurked by the fish for me.
Whatever is making you so angry, it's time for you to give it to God and get over it.