The Only Thing Grief Has

Be Brave Enough To Do The Loving Thing.

We Say That Every Man Is Entitled To Be Valued By His Best Moment. We Measure Our Friends So. We Know, They Have Intervals Of Folly, Whereof We Take No Heed, But Wait The Reappearings Of The Genius, Which Are Sure And Beautiful.

The Virtues Of Society Are The Vices Of The Saints.

Rhodora! If The Sages Ask Thee Why This Charm Is Wasted On The Earth And Sky, Tell Them, Dear, That If Eyes Were Made For Seeing, Then Beauty Is Its Own Excuse For Being.

I--this Thought Which Is Called I--is The Mould Into Which The World Is Poured Like Melted Wax.