The only fault's with time; All men become good creatures: but so slow!
Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her- Next time, herself!-not the trouble behind her
Mothers, wives and maids, These be the tools with which priests manage men.
Oh, the little more, and how much it is! And the little less, and what worlds away.
Brightest truth, purest trust in the universe, all were for me, in the kiss of one girl.
The great beacon light God sets in all, the conscience of each bosom.