I Love You When You

To Belittle, You Have To Be Little.

Sadness Is But A Wall Between Two Gardens.

The Philosopher's Soul Dwells In His Head, The Poet's Soul Is In His Heart; The Singer's Soul Lingers About His Throat, But The Soul Of The Dancer Abides In All Her Body.

Miserable Is The Man Who Loves A Woman And Takes Her For His Wife, Pouring At Her Feet The Sweat Of His Skin And The Blood Of His Body And The Life Of His Heart, And Placing Her In The Hands Of The Fruit Of His Toil And The Revenue Of His Diligence; For When He Slowly Wakes Up, He Finds That The Heart That He Endeavored To Buy Is Given Away Freely And In Sincerity To Another Man For The Enjoyment Of Its Hidden Secrets And Deepest Love.

He Alone Is Great Who Turns The Voice Of The Wind Into A Song Made Sweeter By His Own Loving.