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1 " I never speak from a place of perfection, for I have mastered no Spiritual matter, or worldly either, I speak only because I am seeking with all my Soul to consistently improve and progress, to be a bit more worthy this second than I was the last, And only desire to share my travels and ponderings, for as I share, even more is learned. Please take none of my words as judgement, for I am and never have been in a position to judge. Still a reminder... I have mastered none, I am still learning...It's good to have goals. "
2 " I will love with all my soul. "
― Lailah Gifty Akita , Think Great: Be Great! (Beautiful Quotes, #1)
3 " Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.Tis some visitor," I muttered, " tapping at my chamber door — Only this, and nothing more." Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrowFrom my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore —For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore — Nameless here for evermore.And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtainThrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door —Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; — This it is, and nothing more." Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,Sir," said I, " or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened wide the door; — Darkness there, and nothing more.Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, " Lenore?" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, " Lenore!" — Merely this, and nothing more.Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.Surely," said I, " surely that is something at my window lattice:Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; — 'Tis the wind and nothing more." Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door — Perched, and sat, and nothing more.Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, " art sure no craven,Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore —Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore." Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,Though its answer little meaning— little relevancy bore;For we cannot help agreeing that no living human beingEver yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door —Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as " Nevermore. "
4 " Amongst it all my soul craved one thing, Love, for it was the beginning and end of anything that will ever truly matter. "
― Nikki Rowe
5 " I die, and yet not dies in meThe ardour of my love for Thee,Nor hath Thy Love, my only goal,Assuaged the fever of my soul.To Thee alone my spirit cries;In Thee my whole ambition lies,And still Thy Wealth is far aboveThe poverty of my small love.I turn to Thee in my request,And seek in Thee my final rest;To Thee my loud lament is brought,Thou dwellest in my secret thought.However long my sickness be,This wearisome infirmity,Never to men will I declareThe burden Thou has made me bear.To Thee alone is manifestThe heavy labour of my breast,Else never kin nor neighbors knowThe brimming measure of my woe.A fever burns below my heartAnd ravages my every part;It hath destroyed my strength and stay,And smouldered all my soul away.Guidest Thou not upon the roadThe rider wearied by his load,Delivering from the steeps of deathThe traveller as he wandereth?Didst Thou not light a beacon tooFor them that found the Guidance trueBut carried not within their handThe faintest glimmer of its brand?O then to me Thy Favour giveThat, so attended, I may live,And overwhelm with ease from TheeThe rigor of my poverty. "
― A.J. Arberry , Sufism: An Account of the Mystics of Islam
6 " With all my soul I wished to be good, but I was young, passionate and alone, completely alone when I sought goodness. Every time I tried to express my most sincere desire, which was to be morally good, I met with contempt and ridicule, but as soon as I yielded to low passions I was praised and encouraged. "
― Leo Tolstoy
7 " I adore the theater and I am a painter. I think the two are made for a marriage of love. I will give all my soul to prove this once more. "