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

The world's male chivalry has perished out, but women are knights-errant to the last; and, if Cervantes had been greater still, he had made his Don a Donna.

No man can be called friendless who has God and the companionship of good books.

What is art but the life upon the larger scale, the higher. When, graduating up in a spiral line of still expanding and ascending gyres, it pushes toward the intense significance of all things, hungry for the infinite?

Measure not the work until the day's out and the labor done.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

Love that endures, from life that disappears!