She had for so many years been trying to be like other people, that she was now like nothing in heaven or earth.

If you know much about your work - why you work, how you work, your aims - you are probably not a poet.

But when you dwell in a house you mislike, you will look out of a window a deal more than those that are content with their dwelling.

It's the folks that depend on us for this and for the other that we most do miss.

Give me good digestion, Lord, And also something to digest; but where and how that something comes I leave to Thee, who knoweth best.

To many women marriage is only this. It is merely a physical change impinging on their ordinary nature, leaving their mentality untouched, their self-possession intact. They are not burnt by even the red fire of physical passion - far less by the white fire of love.

The past is only the present become invisible and mute; and because it is invisible and mute, its memorized glances and its murmurs are infinitely precious. We are tomorrow's past.