I hate people but I love gatherings.

The young are so old, they are born with their fingers crossed.

I, being born a woman and distressed By all the needs and notions of my kind.

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

No one but Night, with tears on her dark face, watches beside me in this windy place.

You wrote me a beautiful letter, I wonder if you meant it to be as beautiful as it was. I think you did; for somehow I know that your feeling for me, however slight it is, is of the nature of love... When you tell me to come, I will come, by the next train, just as I am. This is not meekness, be assured; I do not come naturally by meekness; know that it is a proud surrender to You.

She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine.