And he whose soul is flat -- the sky Will cave in on him by and by.

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

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.

Please don't think me negligent or rude. I am both, in effect, of course, but please don't think me either.

A grave is such a quiet place.

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain; Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink.

That is my being, the madness of an unaccustomed mood.