Commemoration of Pandita Mary Ramabai, Translator of the Scriptures, 1922 A memory of yesterday's pleasures, a fear of tomorrow's dangers, a straw under my knees, a noise in my ear, a light in my eye, an anything, a nothing, a fancy, a chimera in my brain, troubles me in my prayers.

There is in every miracle a silent chiding of the world, and a tacit reprehension of them who require, or who need miracles.

Then love is sin, and let me sinful be.

Reason is our soul's left hand, Faith her right, By these we reach divinity

Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.

A mathematical point is the most indivisble and unique thing which art can present.

Pleasure is none, if not diversified.