An ignorance of means may minister to greatness, but an ignorance of aims make it impossible to be great at all.
And Chaucer, with his infantine Familiar clasp of things divine.
Every age, Through being beheld too close, is ill-discerned By those who have not lived past it.
His ears were often the first thing to catch my tears.
Large, musing eyes, neither joyous nor sorry.
A good neighbor sometimes cuts your morning up to mince-meat of the very smallest talk, then helps to sugar her bohea at night with your reputation.