I stay a little longer, as one stays, to cover up the embers that still burn.

There's nothing in this world so sweet as love. And next to love the sweetest thing is hate.

The holiest of holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart.

Stars of earth, these golden flowers; emblems of our own great resurrection; emblems of the bright and better land.

The story, from beginning to end, I found again in a heart of a friend.

The smoking flax before it burst to flame Was quenched by death, and broken the bruised reed.

How beautiful the silent hour, when morning and evening thus sit together, hand in hand, beneath the starless sky of midnight!