"First time he kissed me, he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write; And, ever si..." — Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Girls blush, sometimes, because they are alive, half wishing they were dead to save the shame. The sudden blush devours them, neck and brow; They have drawn too near the fire of life, like gnats, and flare up bodily, wings and all. What then? Who's sorry for a gnat or girl?

God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers, And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face, A gauntlet with a gift in it.

He lives most life whoever breathes most air.

Since when was genius found respectable?