A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is, to meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore; A privilege I think.

Until you have loved, you cannot become yourself.

A letter always seemed to me like immortality because it is the mind alone without corporeal friend.

They say that 'home is where the heart is.' I think it is where the house is, and the adjacent buildings.

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

Unable are the Loved to die For Love is Immortality, Nay, it is Deity - Unable they that love - to die For Love reforms Vitality Into Divinity.

Bring me the sunset in a cup.