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

Beloved, let us live so well our work shall still be better for our love, and still our love be sweeter for our work.

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

But the child's sob curses deeper in the silence than the strong man in his wrath!

Since when was genius found respectable?

And is it not the chief good of money, the being free from the need of thinking of it?

First time he kissed me, he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write; And, ever since, it grew more clean and white.