Through the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that ofttimes hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

That queen of secrecy, the violet.

I wish you could invent some means to make me at all happy without you. Every hour I am more and more concentrated in you; everything else tastes like chaff in my mouth.

My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.

Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.

I never can feel certain of any truth, but from a clear perception of its beauty.