Women are only told that they resemble angels when they are young and beautiful; consequently, it is their persons, not their virtues, that procure them homage.

Do we call the star lost that is hidden / In the great light of morn?

I know not which I love the most, Nor which the comeliest shows, The timid, bashful violet Or the royal-hearted rose: The pansy in purple dress, The pink with cheek of red, Or the faint, fair heliotrope, who hangs, Like a bashful maid her head.

But whenever she thanks the givers for favors great and small, she thinks of the good little sister who gave her more than they all.

Death comes not to the living soul, nor age to the living heart.

Never is true love blind, but rather brings an added light.

All the great blessings of my life are present in my thoughts today