Where the voice of the wind calls our wandering feet, Through echoing forest and echoing street, With lutes in our hands ever-singing we roam, All men are our kindred, the world is our home. Our lays are of cities whose lustre is shed, The laughter and beauty of women long dead; The sword of old battles, the crown of old kings, And happy and simple and sorrowful things. What hope shall we gather, what dreams shall we sow? Where the wind calls our wandering footsteps we go. No love bids us tarry, no joy bids us wait: The voice of the wind is the voice of our fate.
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No love, no friendship can cross the path of our destiny without leaving some mark on it forever.
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In all the world, there is no heart for me like yours. In all the world, there is no love for you like mine.
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Children, you must remember something. A man without ambition is dead. A man with ambition but no love is dead. A man with ambition and love for his blessings here on earth is ever so alive.
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A man without ambition is dead. A man with ambition but no love is dead. A man with ambition and love for his blessings here on earth is ever so alive. Having been alive, it won't be so hard in the end to lie down and rest.
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For a crowd is not company; and faces are but a gallery of pictures; and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love.
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Where there is no extravagance there is no love, and where there is no love there is no understanding.
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There is no friendship, no love, like that of the parent for the child.
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There is no love lost between us.
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There is no love sincerer than the love of food.
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No Jesus, No Love. Know Jesus, Know Love.
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