It is difficult to get rid of people when you once have given them too much pleasure.

The least flower, with brimming cup, may stand and share its dew drop with another near.

Suddenly, as rare things will, it vanished.

I, who had had my heart full for hours, took advantage of an early moment of solitude, to cry in it very bitterly. Suddenly a little hairy head thrust itself from behind my pillow into my face, rubbing its ears and nose against me in a responsive agitation, and drying the tears as they came.

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

And yet, because I love thee, I obtain From that same love this vindicating grace, To live on still in love, and yet in vain

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