He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly followed.
My heart suspects more than mine eye can see.
A grandma's name is little less in love than is the doting title of a mother.
We suffer a lot the few things we lack and we enjoy too little the many things we have.
Nature, as it grows again toward earth, is fashioned for the journey, dull and heavy.