I love you for the part of me that you bring out.

Experience, like a pale musician, holds a dulcimer of patience in his hand.

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

He lives most life whoever breathes most air.

She lived, we'll say, A harmless life, she called a virtuous life, A quiet life, which was not life at all (But that she had not lived enough to know)

I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, Those of my own life, who by turns had flung A shadow across me.

I worked with patience which means almost power.