That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, lest you should think he never could recapture the first fine careless rapture!
Lose who may-I still can say, Those who win heaven, blest are they!
Praise is deeper than the lips
Motherhood: All love begins and ends there.
To me at least was never evening yet, but seemed far beautifuller than its day.
Imperfection means perfection hid.