The fairest things have fleetest end, Their scent survives their close: But the rose's scent is bitterness To him that loved the rose.

The innocent moon, that nothing does but shine,Moves all the labouring surges of the world.

In all change, well looked into, the germinal good out-veils the apparent ill.

Little Jesus, was Thou shy Once, and just so small as I? And what did it feel like to be Out of Heaven, and just like me?

The desolation and terror of, for the first time, realizing that the mother can lose you, or you her, and your own abysmal loneliness and helplessness without her.

The fairest things have fleetest end, Their scent survives their close: But the rose's scent is bitterness To him that loved the rose.

A dog, I will maintain, is a very tolerable judge of beauty, as appears from the fact that any liberally educated dog does, in a general way, prefer a woman to a man.