Before I put on my make up, I say a little prayer for you.
Islands in the streams, that is what we are.
The custom of burning a beneficent god is too foreign to later modes of thought to escape misinterpretation.
I'm happy to be stuck with you.
Let me hear your body talk.
Then come and as we lay, beside this sleepy glade, there I will sing to you my Longfellow serenade.
There are photographs that I don't take now that I previously would have taken without any thought at all as to any misinterpretations.
To give truth to him who loves it not is but to give him more plentiful material for misinterpretation.
Don't know much, but I know I love you.
I'm in you, you're in me.
Spread your love and fly.
Renounce all those material things that you gained by exploiting other human beings.
Don't shed no tears, no woman, no cry.