Whoever lives true life, will love true love.

This race is never grateful: from the first, One fills their cup at supper with pure wine, Which back they give at cross-time on a sponge, In bitter vinegar.

Think, in mounting higher, the angels would press on us, and aspire to drop some golden orb of perfect song into our deep, dear silence.

Men get opinions as boys learn to spell by reiteration chiefly.

I love you for the part of me that you bring out.

Don't get me wrong-painting's all right. But now that we have photography, what's the point?

I love thee to the level of everyday's most quiet need, by sun and candle light...I love thee with the breath,smiles,t ears,of all my life.