God, I can push the grass apart and lay my finger on Thy heart.
Blessed be Death, that cuts in marble What would have sunk to dust!
There is no God. But it does not matter. Man is enough.
We are all ruled in what we do by impulses; and these impulses are so organized that our actions in general serve for our self preservation and that of the race.
Beauty is whatever gives joy.
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.