Life must go on; I forget just why.

My heart is warm with the friends I make, And better friends I'll not be knowing, Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take, No matter where it's going.

Music my rampart, and my only one.

God, I can push the grass apart and lay my finger on Thy heart.

This have I known always: Love is no more than the wide blossom which the wind assails, than the great tide that treads the shifting shore, strewing fresh wreckage gathered in the gales; Pity me that the heart is slow to learn, that the swift mind beholds at every turn.

I do not think there is a woman in whom the roots of passion shoot deeper than in me.

You are loved. If so, what else matters?