Beautiful as a dandelion-blossom golden in the green grass, this life can be.

Childhood is not from birth to a certain age and at a certain age. The child is grown, and puts away childish things. Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies.

Euclid Alone Has Looked on Beauty Bare.

But you, you foolish girl, you have gone home to a leaky castle across the sea to lie awake in linen smelling of lavender, and hear the nightingale, and long for me.

I know, but I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

Death devours all lovely things.

Beauty in all things-no, we cannot hope for that; but some place set apart for it.