She died--this was the way she died; And when her breath was done, Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun. Her little figure at the gate The angels must have spied, Since I could never find her Upon the mortal side.

You are nipping in the bud fancies which I let blossom. The shore is safer, but I love to buffet the sea - I can count the bitter wrecks here in these pleasant waters, and hear the murmuring winds, but oh, I love the danger!

The only secret people keep is immortality.

Assent - and you are sane - Demur - and you're straightaway dangerous - and handled with a chain.

When he tells us about his Father, we distrust him. When he shows us his Home, we turn away, but when he confides to us that he is acquainted with grief, we listen, for that also is an acquaintance of our own.

I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine.

I felt it shelter to speak to you.