The events of childhood do not pass but repeat themselves like seasons of the year.

Praise with elation
Praise every morning
Spring‘s re-creation
Of the First Day!

I will fight for you, yes, and you will fight for me. And if you have sacrificed joy and courage and beauty and wisdom for my sake, I will give them all to you again; and yet you must also give them to me, for they are things in which without you I am wanting. But together we can make them.

Women are so strangely constructed that they have in them darkness as well as light, though it be but a little curtain hung across the sun. And love is the hand that takes the curtain down, a stronger hand than fear, which hung it up. For all the ill that is in us comes from fear, and all the good from love.

Ecstasy cannot be constant, or it would kill.

He bent his head and kissed her long and deeply, and in that kiss neither knew themselves, or even each other, but something beyond all consciousness that was both of them.

All the ill that is in us comes from fear, and all the good from love.

In Fleet Street, in Fleet Street, the People are so fleet, They barely touch the cobble-stones with their nimble feet!

On Hallowe’en the old ghosts come about us, and they speak to some; to others they are dumb.

Old sundial, you stand here for Time: For Love, the vine that round your base, Its tendrils twines, and dares to climb, And lay one flower-capped spray in grace, Without the asking on your cold, Unsmiling and unfrowning face.

It seems to me there are no rules, only instances; but perhaps that is because I learned no rules, and am only an instance myself.

In love there are no penalties and no payments, and what is given is indistinguishable from what is received.

Cats sleep Anywhere, Any table, Any chair, Top of piano, Window-ledge, In the middle, On the edge.

Upon your shattered ruins where, This vine will flourish still, as rare, As fresh, as fragrant as of old. Love will not crumble.

Of what use to destroy the children of evil? It is evil itself we must destroy at the roots.

And he loved her, both for her fault and her redemption of it, more than he had ever thought that he could love her; for he had believed that in their kiss love had reached its uttermost. But love has no uttermost, as the stars have no number and the sea no rest.

There’s Carol like a rolling car, And Martin like a flying bird, And Adam like the Lord‘s First Word, And Raymond like the Harvest Moon, And Peter like a piper‘s tune, And Alan like the flowing on Of water. And there’s John, like John.

Morning has broken
Like the first morning.
Blackbird has spoken
Like the first bird.

He loved her, both for her fault and her redemption of it, more than he had ever thought that he could love her; for he had believed that in their kiss love had reached its uttermost. But love has no uttermost, as the starshave no number and the sea no rest.