I don't want to die. But I want to be dead.
Her face betokened all things dear and good, The light of somewhat yet to come was there Asleep, and waiting for the opening day, When childish thoughts, like flowers would drift away.
It is a comely fashion to be glad; Joy is the grace we say to God.
It is not reason which makes faith hard, but life.
Children bring their own love with them when they come.
Tears are the showers that fertilize this world.