The charm, one might say the genius, of memory is that it is choosy, chancy and temperamental.

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.

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

Whoever lives true life, will love true love.

XI I sang his name instead of song; Over and over I sang his name: Backward and forward I sang it along, With my sweetest notes, it was still the same! I sang it low, that the slave-girls near Might never guess, from what they could hear, That all the song was a name.

With what cracked pitchers go we to deep wells In this world!

I should not dare to call my soul my own.