They say that 'home is where the heart is.' I think it is where the house is, and the adjacent buildings.
Love can do all but raise the Dead.
Enough is so vast a sweetness I suppose it never occurs.
I stepped from plank to plank So slow and cautiously; The stars about my head I felt, About my feet the sea. I knew not but the next Would be my final inch,— This gave me that precarious gait Some call experience.
To travel far, there is no better ship than a book.
When we think of his lone effort to live and its bleak reward, the mind turns to the myth "for His mercy endureth forever," with confiding revulsion.