Are you really listening... or are you just waiting for your turn to talk?

O for a summer noon, when light and breeze Sport on the grass, like ripples o'er a lake Alive with freshness! when the full round Sun, With the Creator's smile upon his face, Walks like a prince of glory through the path Of Heaven! - Thou vast, and ever-glorious sky, Mantling the earth with thy majestic robe.

And there is London!--England's heart and soul. By the proud flowing of her famous Thames, She circulates through countless lands and isles Her greatness gloriously she rules, At once the awe and sceptre of the world.

The people you love become ghosts inside of you, and like this you keep them alive.

Free healthcare and free and equal education and peace are about the only things I passionately believe in, and I think if you don't believe in those but you go to church on Sunday then that's hypocris.

A universal beauty clothes the world, And one heart seems to beat for all mankind!

Home, the spot of earth supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest.

What if I say that in my view about the least Christian thing you could do is what the Republican party are trying to doing again now, which is try to take charge of the richest country in the world and then deny the people of that country free access to free healthcare and free education and start more wars.

Oh! none are so absorb'd, as not to feel Sweet thoughts like music coming o'er the mind: When prayer, the purest incense of a soul, Hath risen to the throne of heaven, the heart Is mellow'd, and the shadows that becloud Our state of darken'd being, glide away.

And Thou, vast Ocean! on whose awful face Time’s iron feet can print no ruin-trace, By breezes lull’d, or by the storm-blasts driv’n, Thy majesty uplifts the mind to heaven.

The flood will lift the ghosts from the Hollywood lawn cemetery and they will disappear like ether in the now dead air. All the names will be erased from the billboards and the theatres and the piers and the magazines and the monuments. You live by myths of immortality, and your myths are not safe.

Oh! weep not that our beauty wears Beneath the wings of Time That age o'erclouds the brow with cares That once was raised sublime... But mourn the inward wreck we feel As hoary years depart, And Time's effacing fingers steal Young feelings from the heart!

And now, Though haply mellow'd by correcting time, I thank thee, Heaven! that the bereaving world Hath not diminish'd the subliming hopes Of youth, in manhood's more imposing cares.

And Thou, vast Ocean! on whole awful face Time's iron feet can print no ruin trace.

How sublime Upon a time-blanch’d cliff to muse, and, while The eagle glories in a sea of air, To mingle with the scene around! - Survey The sun-warm heaven.