What is patriotism? Is it love of one's birthplace, the place of childhood's recollections and hopes, dreams and aspirations? Is it the… — Emma Goldman Copy Share Image
When night falls over Washington, D.C., memorials, public buildings, and broad avenues become ethereal shapes in soft light and shadow. Floodlights, piercing… — Volkmar Wentzel Copy Share Image
Morning drew on apace. The air became more sharp and piercing, as its first dull hue: the death of night, rather than… — Charles Dickens Copy Share Image
Bleak, dark, and piercing cold, it was a night for the well-housed and fed to draw round the bright fire, and thank… — Charles Dickens Copy Share Image
Say she rail; why, I'll tell her plain She sings as sweetly as a nightingale. Say that she frown; I'll say she… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Soul. The word rebounded to me, and I wondered, as I often had, what it was exactly. People talked about it all… — Sue Monk Kidd Copy Share Image
Each night the black sky and the bright stars were my stunning companions; occasionally Id see their beauty and solemnity so plainly… — Cheryl Strayed Copy Share Image
