I've got a Tomahawk in my side but that don't hurt me much.

If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry.

Look back on time with kindly eyes, He doubtless did his best; How softly sinks his trembling sun In human nature's west!

Hope is the thing with feathers.

Earth is crammed with Heaven.

Write me of hope and love, and hearts that endured.

Sweet hour, blessed hour, to carry me to you, and to bring you back to me, long enough to snatch one kiss, and whisper goodbye again.

Judge tenderly of me.

The smitten rock that gushes, The trampled steel that springs; A cheek is always redder Just where the hectic stings!

I think of love, and you, and my heart grows full and warm, and my breath stands still.

Celebrity is the chastisement of merit and the punishment of talent.

Behavior is what a man does, not what he thinks, feels, or believes.

If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain.

My only sketch, profile of heaven, is a large blue sky, and larger than the biggest I have seen in June--and in it are my friends--every one of them.

I tell her we all shall fly so soon, not to let it grieve her, and what indeed is Earth but a Nest, from whose rim we are all falling?

Love is Immortality.

Susie, what shall I do - there is'nt room enough; not half enough, to hold what I was going to say. Wont you tell the man who makes sheets of paper, that I hav'nt the slightest respect for him!

They say that 'home is where the heart is.' I think it is where the house is, and the adjacent buildings.

Find ecstasy in life; the mere sense of living is joy enough.

What has been the tale of me?

The career of flowers differs from ours only in inaudibleness. I feel more reverence as I grow for these mute creatures whose suspense or transport may surpass my own.

We grow accustomed to the dark when light is put away.

It is finished, is never said of us.

The possible's slow fuse is lit by the imagination.

Life is but life, and death but death! Bliss is but bliss, and breath but breath! And if, indeed, I fail, At least to know the worst is sweet. Defeat means nothing but defeat, No drearier can prevail!

I tasted life.

I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine.

To shut your eyes is to travel.

The days will have more hours while you are gone away.

Expectation is contentment - Gain satiety.

Love is anterior to life, posterior to death, initial of creation, and the Exponent of earth.

I need you more and more, and the great world grows wider, and dear ones fewer and fewer, every day that you stay away.

How dreary - to be - somebody! How public - like a frog - to tell your name - the livelong June - to an admiring bog!

Finite to fail, but infinite to venture.

Grant me, O Lord, a sunny mind-Thy windy will to bear!

The heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain.

We were never intimate mother and children while she was our mother - but... when she became our child, the affection came.

Home is so far from home.

For love is immortality.

We cherish all the past, we glide a-down the present, awake yet dreaming; but the future of ours together—there the bird sings loudest, and the sun shines always there...

Truth is so rare, it is delightful to tell it.

Some keep the Sabbath going to church, I keep it staying at home, with a bobolink for a chorister, and an orchard for a dome.

They say that God is everywhere, and yet we always think of Him as somewhat of a recluse.

Beauty is not caused.

The best vitality Cannot excel decay.

Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the culprit, — Life!

An ill heart, like a body, has its more comfortable days, and then its days of pain, its long relapse, when rallying requires more effort than to dissolve life, and death looks choiceless.

I have a brother and sister; my mother does not care for thought, and father, too busy with his briefs to notice what we do. He buys me many books, but begs me not to read them, because he fears they joggle the mind.

Till it has loved, no man or woman can become itself.