I Hate People But I Love Gatherings.

This Book, When I Am Dead, Will Be A Little Faint Perfume Of Me. People Who Knew Me Well Will Say, She Really Used To Think That Way.

To Be Grown Up Is To Sit At The Table With People Who Have Died, Who Neither Listen Nor Speak.

Not Truth, But Faith It Is That Keeps The World Alive.

We Were So Wholly One I Had Not Thought That We Could Die Apart. I Had Not Thought That I Could Move,—and You Be Stiff And Still! That I Could Speak,—and You Perforce Be Dumb! I Think Our Heart-strings Were, Like Warp And Woof In Some Firm Fabric, Woven In And Out; Your Golden Filaments In Fair Design Across My Duller Fibre.

But You Were Something More Than Young And Sweet And Fair, - And The Long Year Remembers You.