Quick-loving Hearts ... May Quickly Loathe.

He Lives Most Life Whoever Breathes Most Air.

The Holy Night We Sate Among The Stalls At Bethlehem; The Dumb Kine From Their Fodder Turning Them, Softened Their Horned Faces To Almost Human Gazes Toward The Newly Born: The Simple Shepherds From The Star-lit Brooks Brought Visionary Looks, As Yet In Their Astonied Hearing Rung The Strange Sweet Angel-tongue: The Magi Of The East, In Sandals Worn, Knelt Reverent, Sweeping Round, With Long Pale Beards, Their Gifts Upon The Ground, The Incense, Myrrh, And Gold These Baby Hands Were Impotent To Hold: So Let All Earthlies And Celestials Wait Upon Thy Royal State. Sleep, Sleep, My Kingly One!

A Woman's Always Younger Than A Man At Equal Years.

My Love For Him Was So Exquisitely Pure That If We All Were Capable Of Giving And Receiving Such A Beautiful Gift The World Would Be A Far More Brilliant Place; I Think We'd All Be Poets.

Too Much Beauty, I Reckon, Is Nothing But Too Much Sun.