“All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old,
The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart,
The heavy steps of the ploughman, splashing the wintry mould,
Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.”

“Roses! I swear you men have all your romance from the same worn book. Flowers are a good thing, a sweet thing to give a lady. But it is always roses, always red, and always perfect hothouse blooms when they can come by them.”

“I know that men ain't supposed to cry, but I think that's wrong. Crying's always been a way for me to get things out which are buried deep, deep down. When I sing, I often cry. Crying is feeling, and feeling is being human.”

“I want to write, but more than that, I want to bring out all kinds of things that lie buried deep in my heart.”

“To do him any wrong was to beget
A kindness from him, for his heart was rich—
Of such fine mould that if you sowed therein
The seed of Hate, it blossomed Charity.”

“Let my heart be broken by the things that break the heart of God.”

“People die of broken hearts. They have heart attacks. And it's the heart that hurts most when things go wrong and fall apart.”

“I’m a big believer that if America, if this country hasn’t broken your heart, then you don’t love her enough. Because there’s things that are savagely wrong in this country.”

“Thou laughest that a child cries o'er its broken doll;—
The things o'er which thou mournest—are they not playthings all?”

“The witching hour, somebody had once whispered to her, was a special moment in the middle of the night when every child and every grown-up was in a deep deep sleep, and all the dark things came out from hiding and had the world all to themselves.”