I verily believe that I never took infant in my arms that did not the moment it was there by its cries beg to be removed.

I found a strawberry blossom in a rock. I uprooted it rashly and felt as if I had been committing an outrage, so I planted it again.

The moon had the old moon in her arms.

I've been a dweller on the plains, have sighed when summer days were gone; No more I'll sigh; for winter here Hath gladsome gardens of his own.

An injudicious and malignant enemy often serves the cause he means to injure; but a feeble friend never attains that end.

Every question was like the snapping of a little thread about my heart.

The moon shone like herrings in the water.