Honesty is the greatest aphrodisiac.

Beauty needs a witness.

To own beauty is the first lie of it.

My Love wakes in a puddle of sunlight.Her hands asleep beside her.Her hair draped on the lawnlike a mantle of cloth.I give her my lifefor our love is wholeI sing her beauty in my soul.

Christmas is the marriage of chaos and design. The real sound of life, for once, can burst out because a formal place has been set for it. At the moment when things have gotten sufficiently...

A glorious death would be in myfinal breath to take before I die, to hearone final time on my belovèd’s mouththe sound of her eternal sigh.

There’s an immense dramatic possibility in describing that universe. The books, for me, were an enormous relief in that sense of how they were written to allow primary emotion, elemental emotion, to matter enormously but...

A girl without braids is like a mountain without waterfalls.

Beauty doesn’t have to be about anything. What’s a vase about? What’s a sunset or a flower about? What, for that matter, is Mozart’s Twenty-third Piano Concerto about?

The disappearance of the presence of beauty is the most despairing of events on this time-wheel of ours that rolls onward towards death.

Beauty is wasted on the self-absorbed.

Listen to your inner voice. Look deeply into soul, there is beauty surrounding you.

All beautiful things must end. Otherwise they are not beautiful.

Nature is amazing wonder.

I sat up in the strange bed fearing it had been a dream, afraid I would never see her again. Not because I wanted anything from her, only her presence. The disappearance of the presence...

You’re about to be in a whole lot of trouble. We probably better go.

I woke to the sound of rain.

But it is just two lovers, holding hands and in a hurry to reach their car, their locked hands a starfish leaping through the dark.

The Brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing, and think it were not...

Creation groans, awaiting the revelation of the sons of God. It remembers, I think, in dreams, the wonders of the sinless, perfect world. You can hear it in the wild tinkle of the wind through...

Life is not always perfect. Like a road, it has many bends, ups and down, but that’s its beauty.

Did you know, that one night; one moonless, clear, shining night; with the shadowy silhouettes of trees crisp against the star-filled sky – I, on the high, level terrace of my flat, stretched out my...