Souls are gregarious in a sense, but no soul touches another, as a general rule.

I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless.

Souls are gregarious in a sense, but no soul touches another, as a general rule.

Life, struck sharp on death, Makes awful lightning.

Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love. Yet love me--wilt thou? Open thine heart wide, And fold within, the wet wings of thy dove.

It is not merely the likeness which is precious... but the association and the sense of nearness involved in the thing... the fact of the very shadow of the person lying there fixed forever! It is the very sanctification of portraits I think - and it is not at all monstrous in me to say that I would rather have such a memorial of one I dearly loved, than the noblest Artist's work ever produced.

Children use the fist until they are of age to use the brain.