“You are ice and fire the touch of you burns my hands like snow.” — Amy Lowell

Happiness, to some, elation; Is, to others, mere stagnation.

A man must be sacrificed now and again to provide for the next generation of men.

Let us be of cheer, remembering that the misfortunes hardest to bear are those which never come.

I am tired, beloved, of chafing my heart against the want of you; of squeezing it into little ink drops, and posting it. And I scald alone, here, under the fire of the great moon.