Ambition, old as mankind, the immemorial weakness of the strong.

But you, oh gardener, poet that you be / Though unaware, now use your seeds like words / And make them lilt with color nicely flung.

Women, like men, ought to have their years so glutted with freedom that they hate the very idea of freedom.

I have come to the conclusion, after many years of sometimes sad experience, that you cannot come to any conclusion at all.

Not seeing is half-believing.

that pathetic short-cut suggested by Nature the supreme joker as a remedy for our loneliness, that ephemeral communion which we persuade ourselves to be of the spirit when it is in fact only of the body - durable not even in memory!

how poor and disheartening a thing is experience compared with hope!