With fatal, fatal Love a girlhood goes.
I am not in the least given to any violent interest in womankind, however, such as has addled the country’s brains of late. Give me a manandwoman world: ’tis good enough!
Youth is slipping, dripping, pearl on pearl, away.
High above hate I dwell, O storms! farewell.
Character demonstrates itself in trifles.
Youth, ah, Youth! all men’s desire and sorrow.
The hand betrays the heart.
Idleness, simon-pure, from which all manner of good springs like seed from a fallow soil, is sure to be misnamed and misconstrued.
The fears of what may come to pass, I cast them all away, Among the clover scented grass, Among the new-mown hay.
Life is a breathing-space between two eternities, a holiday with appalling realities behind and before.
Very few can be trusted with an education.
My own passion, all my life, has been non-collecting.
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