I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use

Much of the possibility of being cheerful comes from the faculty of throwing oneself beyond oneself.

Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God: But only he who sees takes off his shoes.

With stammering lips and insufficient sound I strive and struggle to deliver right the music of my nature.

I worked with patience which means almost power.

The little cares that fretted me, I lost them yesterday Among the fields above the sea, Among the winds at play.

The English have a scornful insular way Of calling the French light.