Such hours are beautiful to live, but very hard to describe.

I ask not for any crown But that which all may win; Nor try to conquer any world Except the one within.

Ridicule is often harder to bear than self-denial.

A child her wayward pencil drew On margins of her book; Garlands of flower, dancing elves, Bud, butterfly, and brook, Lessons undone, and plum forgot, Seeking with hand and heart The teacher whom she learned to love Before she knew t'was Art.

Better lose your life than your soul.

…I can't help seeing that you are very lonely, and sometimes there is a hungry look in your eyes that goes to my heart.

We'll all grow up someday, Meg, we might as well know what we want. ~Amy March~