I would blossom if I were a rose.

Ah, I could lay me down in this long grass And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind Blow over me

I saw and heard, and knew at last The How and Why of all things, past, and present, and forevermore.

A person who publishes a book willfully appears before the populace with his pants down. If it is a good book nothing can hurt him. If it is a bad book nothing can help him.

What should I be but just what I am?

Heap not on this mound roses that she loved so well; why bewilder her with roses that she cannot see or smell.

Sweet love, sweet thorn, when lightly to my heart. I took your thrust, whereby I since am slain, And I lie disheveled in the grass apart, A sodden thing bedrenched by tears and rain.