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

I miss the grasshoppers much, but suppose it is all for the best. I should become too much attached to a trotting world.

Why should we censure Othello when the Criterion Lover says, "Thou shalt have no other Gods before Me"?

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.

I wonder if it hurts to live, And if they have to try, And whether, could they choose between, They would not rather die.

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.

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.