Tell me what you feel in your room when the full moon is shining in upon you and your lamp is dying out, and I will tell you how old you are, and I shall know if you are happy. – Henri Frederic Amiel
. . . colors like a flourish of trumpets or pianissimo on the violin, great, calm, oscillating, splintered surgances . . . . Is this not form? – Giacomo Puccini
The tragedy of life and of the world is not that men do not know God the tragedy is that, knowing Him, they still insist on going their own way. – William Barclay