A mother is a mother still, The holiest thing alive.

The mother says to her daughter: Daughter bid thy daughter, to her daughter, that her daughter's daughter is crying. [Lat., Mater ait natae die natae filia natum Ut moneat natae plangere filiolam.]

There was a place in childhood that I remember well, And there a voice of sweetest tone bright fairy tales did tell.

Poetry: the best words in the best order.

I wish our clever young poets would remember my homely definitions of prose and poetry; that is, prose = words in their best order; poetry = the best words in the best order

If a man could pass through Paradise in a dream, and have a flower presented to him as a pledge that his soul had really been there, and if he found that flower in his hand when he awake - Aye, what then?