And Marlowe, Webster, Fletcher, Ben, Whose fire-hearts sowed our furrows when The world was worthy of such men.

The little cares that fretted me, I lost them yesterday Among the fields above the sea, Among the winds at play.

Women know the way to rear up children (to be just). They know a simple, merry, tender knack of tying sashes, fitting baby-shoes, and stringing pretty words that make no sense. And kissing full sense into empty words.

The Greeks said grandly in their tragic phrase, 'Let no one be called happy till his death;' to which I would add, 'Let no one, till his death, be called unhappy.'

Like to write? Of course, of course I do. I seem to live while I write - it is life, for me.

His ears were often the first thing to catch my tears.

Light tomorrow with today!