Speech is one symptom of affection; and silence one; the perfect communication is heard of none.

I cannot live with you, It would be life, And life is over there Behind the shelf

The power to console is not within corporeal reach - though its attempt is precious.

There is always one thing to be grateful for - that one is one's self and not somebody else.

To lose what we have never owned might seem an eccentric bereavement, but Presumption has its own affliction as well as claim.

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.

My business is circumference.