The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him is aristocracy.

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.

Affection is like bread, unnoticed till we starve, and then we dream of it, and sing of it, and paint it, when every urchin in the street has more than he can eat.

How frugal is the chariot that bears a human soul.

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant-- Success in Circuit lies Too bright for our infirm Delight The Truth's superb surprise As Lightning to the Children eased With explanation kind The Truth must dazzle gradually Or every man be blind--

Love is like life-merely longer.

The Crime, from us, is hidden, [though] he is presumed to know.