Our lives are songs; God write the words And we set them to music at pleasure; And the song grows glad, or sweet or sad, As we choose to fashion the measure.

We ought to make the moments notes Of happy glad Thanksgiving; The hours and days, a silent praise Of music we are living.

Lady beware. Fan not the harmless glow Of admiration into ardent love, Lean not with red curled smiling lips above The flickering spark of sinless flame, and blow, Lest in the sudden waking of desire Thou, like the child, shalt perish in the fire.

A day which passed without a poem from my pen I considered lost and misused.

Let mine not be that saddest fate of all To live beyond my greater self; to see My faculties decaying, as the tree Stands stark and helpless while its green leaves fall... "She lives, but all her usefulness is past."

Life is too short for any vain regretting... Between the swift sun's rising and its setting, we have no time for useless tears or fretting, life is too short.... Time is the best avenger if we wait, the years speed by, and on their wings bear healing, life is too short for aught but high endeavor-too short for spite, but long enough for love. And love lives on forever and forever.

For an actress to be a success, she must have the face of Venus, the brains of a Minerva, the grace of Terpsichore, the memory of a Macaulay, the figure of Juno, and the hide of a rhinoceros.