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

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

Eve is a twofold mystery.

A great man leaves clean work behind him, and requires no sweeper up of the chips.

If we tried To sink the past beneath our feet, be sure The future would not stand.

I f thou must love me, let it be for nought Except for love's sake only. Do not say, I love her for her smile ... her look ... her way Of speaking gently ... for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and, certes, brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day- For these things in themselves, Beloved, may Be changed, or change for thee-and love so wrought, May be unwrought so.

Quick-loving hearts ... may quickly loathe.