The ninety and nine are with dreams, content but t...

Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term Art, I should call it 'the reproduction of what the Senses perceive in Nature through the veil of the soul.' The mere imitation, however accurate, of what is in Nature, entitles no man to the sacred name of 'Artist.'

Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.

Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.

Old age realizes the dreams of youth: look at Dean Swift in his youth he built an asylum for the insane, in his old age he was himself an inmate.

Everybody past a certain age, regardless of how they look on the outside, pretty much constantly dreams of being able to escape from their lives.

People are so busy dreaming the American Dream, fantasizing about what they could be or have a right to be, that they're all asleep at the switch. Consequently we are living in the Age of Human Error.

Man, alone, has the power to transform his thoughts into physical reality man, alone, can dream and make his dreams come true.

Middle age is when you're sitting at home on a Saturday night and the telephone rings and you hope it isn't for you.

Many believe - and I believe - that I have been designated for this work by God. In spite of my old age, I do not want to give it up I work out of love for God and I put all my hope in Him.

I feel like a lot of the female relationships I see on TV or in movies are in some way free of the kind of jealousy and anxiety and posturing that has been such a huge part of my female friendships, which I hope lessens a little bit with age.

It seems to me there is a change in what audiences want to see. I can only hope that's correct, because there's an awful lot of people of my age around now and we outnumber the others.