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“O Me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;
Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.”
― Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

“Raise your words, not voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.”
― Rumi

“Treachery and violence are spears pointed at both ends; they wound those who resort to them worse than their enemies.”
― Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

“I liked my name pronounced by your lips in a grateful, happy accent.”
― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre