Sleep has no place it can call its own.

It is a strange world, a sad world, a world full of miseries, and woes, and troubles; and yet when King Laugh come he make them all dance to the tune he play. Bleeding hearts, and dry bones of the churchyard, and tears that burn as they fall -- all dance together to the music that he make with that smileless mouth of him.

Ah, it is the fault of our science that it wants to explain all; and if it explain not, then it says there is nothing to explain.

Yes, there is some one I love, though he has not told me yet that he even loves me.

Despair has its own calms.

Because if a woman's heart was free a man might have hope.

A house cannot be made habitable in a day; and, after all, how few days go to make up a century.