When I say writing, O believe me, it is rewriting that I have chiefly in mind.

I know what happiness is, for I have done good work.

The friendly cow, all red and white, I love with all my heart; She gives me cream with all her might, To eat with apple-tart.

Death is given in a kiss; the dearest kindnesses are fatal; and into this life, where one thing preys upon another, the child too often makes its entrance from the mother's corpse.

Restfulness is a quality for cattle; the virtues are all active, life is alert.

A knowledge that another has felt as we have felt, and seen things not much otherwise than we have seen them, will continue to the end to be one of life's choicest blessings.

Seaward ho! Hang the treasure! It's the glory of the sea that has turned my head.