And if God choose I shall but love thee better after death.

I love thee to the level of everyday's most quiet need, by sun and candle light...I love thee with the breath,smiles,t ears,of all my life.

Of writing many books there is no end.

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

Girls blush, sometimes, because they are alive, half wishing they were dead to save the shame. The sudden blush devours them, neck and brow; They have drawn too near the fire of life, like gnats, and flare up bodily, wings and all. What then? Who's sorry for a gnat or girl?

What is genius but the power of expressing a new individuality?

Life, struck sharp on death, Makes awful lightning.