The loss of these tastes [for poetry and music] is a loss of happiness, and may possibly be injurious to the intellect, and more probably to the moral character, by enfeebling the emotional part of our nature.

Men are climbing to the moon, but they don't seem interested in the beating human heart.

The speech of my heart will be carried on in murmurings of a song.

Every heart has its own skeletons.

Deep in my heart I'm concealing things that I'm longing to say. Scared to confess what I'm feeling - frightened you'll slip away.

There are no good-byes, where ever you'll be, you'll be in my heart.