No matter how far a person can go the horizon is still way beyond you.

I have a strong suspicion . . . that much that passes for constant love is a golded-up moment walking in its sleep.

If you haven't got it,
you can't show it.
If you have got it,
you can't hide it.

Love, I find, is like singing. Everybody can do enough to satisfy themselves, though it may not impress the neighbors as being very much.

Grab the broom of anger and drive off the beast of fear.