Sharp knives seemed to cut her delicate feet, yet she hardly felt them, so deep was the pain in her heart. She could not forget that this was the last night she would ever see the one for whom she had left her home and family, had given up her beautiful voice, and had day by day endured unending torment, of which he knew nothing at all. An eternal night awaited her.

Farewell, farewell," said the swallow, with a heavy heart, as he left the warm countries, to fly back into Denmark. There he had a nest over the window of a house in which dwelt the writer of fairy tales. The swallow sang "Tweet, tweet," and from his song came the whole story.

My life will be the best illustration of all my work.

When the bird of the heart begins to sing, too often will reason stop up her ears.

Many, many steeples would have to be stacked one on top of another to reach from the bottom to the surface of the sea.

Death walks faster than the wind and never returns what he has taken.

I never dreamed of so much happiness when I was the Ugly Duckling!