Night falls fast. Today is in the past. Blown from the dark hill hither to my door Three flakes, then four Arrive, then many more.

I am all the time talking about you, and bragging, to one person or another. I am like the Ancient Mariner, who had a tale in his heart he must unfold to all. I am always buttonholing somebody and saying, "Someday you must meet my mother."

I am glad that I paid so little attention to good advice; had I abided by it I might have been saved from some of my most valuable mistakes.

There are a hundred places where I fear To go, --so with his memory they brim! And entering with relief some quiet place Where never fell his foot or shone his face I say, 'There is no memory of him here!' And so stand stricken, so remembering him!

If I could have two things in one: the peace of the grave, and the light of the sun.

Beauty never slumbers; All is in her name; But the rose remembers The dust from which it came.

Life must go on, Though good men die.