They took away what should have been my eyes (but I remembered Milton's Paradise). They took away what should have been my ears, (Beethoven came and wiped away my tears) They took away what should have been my tongue, (but I had talked with god when I was young) He would not let them take away my soul, possessing that I still possess the whole.

I have found out that though the ways in which I can make myself useful are few, yet the work open to me is endless.

I sometimes wonder if the hand is not more sensitive to the beauties of sculpture than the eye. I should think the wonderful rhythmical flow of lines and curves could be more subtly felt than seen. Be this as it may, I know that I can feel the heart-throbs of the ancient Greeks in their marble gods and goddesses.

For my part, I wish, with Mr. Howells, that the literature of the past might be purged of all that is ugly and barbarous in it, although I should object as much as any one to having these great works weakened or falsified.

Now, however, I see the folly of attempting to hitch one's wagon to a star with a harness that does not belong to it.

I do not want the peace which passeth understanding, I want the understanding which bringeth peace.

The best things in life are not seen or heard ... but felt with the heart.