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

I would like more sisters, that the taking out of one, might not leave such stillness.

I work to drive the awe away, yet awe impels the work.

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.

Memory is a strange Bell—Jubilee, and Knell.

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

The Things that never can come back, are several - Childhood - some forms of Hope - the Dead.