What you are will show in what you do.

To God I speak Spanish, to women Italian, to men French, and to my horse--German.

Insanity destroys reason, but not wit.

But these are foolish things to all the wise, And I love wisdom more than she loves me; My tendency is to philosophise On most things, from a tyrant to a tree; But still the spouseless virgin Knowledge flies, What are we? and whence come we? what shall be Our ultimate existence? What's our present? Are questions answerless, and yet incessant.

His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings but reliev'd their pain; The long remembered beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast.

I've had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn't it.

Yet still there whispers the small voice within, Heard through Gain's silence, and o'er Glory's din; Whatever creed be taught or land be trod, Man's conscience is the oracle of God.

A wedding is just like a funeral except that you get to smell your own flowers.

I'm from Missouri; you must show me.

Feast of Monica, Mother of Augustine of Hippo, 387 What art Thou then, my God? What, but the Lord God? For who is Lord but the Lord? or who is God save our God? Most highest, most good, most potent, most omnipotent; most merciful, yet most just; most hidden, yet most present; most beautiful, yet most strong; stable, yet incomprehensible; unchangeable, yet all changing; never new, never old; all-renewing, and bringing age upon the Proud, and they know it not; ever working, ever at rest; still gathering, yet nothing lacking; supporting, filling, and over-spreading; creating, nourishing, and maturing; seeking, yet having all things. (Continued tomorrow).

Sometimes I worry about being a success in a mediocre world.

The sleep of a labouring man is sweet, whether he eat little or much: but the abundance of the rich will not suffer him to sleep.

The prosperous man does not know whether he is loved.

A poor man with nothing in his belly needs hope, illusion, more than bread.

Were it offered to my choice, I should have no objection to a repetition of the same life from its beginning, only asking the advantages authors have in a second edition to correct some faults in the first.

A photograph is a secret about a secret. The more it tells you the less you know.

The ocean: rocking cradle of the world, sunset stairway to the stars .. only by great masters trod, only written on by God.

I cry every chance I get.

Hospital rooms seemt to have vastly more ceiling than any rooms people live in.

The memories of my family outings are still a source of strength to me. I remember we'd all pile into the car - I forget what kind it was - and drive and drive. I'm not sure where we'd go, but I think there were some trees there. The smell of something was strong in the air as we played whatever sport we played. I remember a bigger, older guy we called "Dad." We'd eat some stuff, or not, and then I think we went home. I guess some things never leave you.