Hatred is the madness of the heart.

Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.

I slept and dreamt that life was beauty; I woke and found that life was duty.

One certainly has a soul; but how it came to allow itself to be enclosed in a body is more than I can imagine.

All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.

Come what may, I have been blest.

I know that two and two make four - and should be glad to prove it too if I could - though I must say if by any sort of process I could convert 2 and 2 into five it would give me much greater pleasure.