I really don't know enough about the structure of fiction.

For in this walk, this voyage, it is yourself, the profound history of your 'self,' that now as always you encounter.

It's time to make love, douse the glim; The fireflies twinkle and dim; The stars lean together Like birds of a feather, And the loin lies down with the limb.

I'm not in the least Southern; I'm entirely New England.

Death is never an ending, death is a change; Death is beautiful, for death is strange; Death is one dream out of another flowing.

Separate we come, and separate we go, And this be it known, is all that we know.

He whose first emotion, on the view of an excellent work, is to undervalue or depreciate it, will never have one of his own to show.