Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind; Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave. I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

This book, when I am dead, will be A little faint perfume of me. People who knew me well will say, She really used to think that way.

Not Truth, but Faith it is that keeps the world alive.

Her lawn looks like a meadow, And if she mows the place She leaves the clover standing And the Queen Anne's Lace.

The only people I really hate are servants. They're not really human beings at all.

Evil alone has oil for every wheel.

Life must go on; I forget just why.