New angel mine, unhoped for in the world!

I heard an angel speak last night/And he said, "Write!"

Love me sweet With all thou art Feeling, thinking, seeing; Love me in the Lightest part, Love me in full Being.

The growing drama has outgrown such toys Of simulated stature, face, and speech: It also peradventure may outgrow The simulation of the painted scene, Boards, actors, prompters, gaslight, and costume, And take for a worthier stage the soul itself, Its shifting fancies and celestial lights, With all its grand orchestral silences To keep the pauses of its rhythmic sounds.

A woman's always younger than a man at equal years.

We overstate the ills of life, and take Imagination... down our earth to rake.

The plague of gold strikes far and near.