Sisters are brittle things. God was penurious with me, which makes me shrewd with Him. One is a dainty sum! One bird, one cage, one flight; one song in those far woods, as yet suspected by faith only!

I would like more sisters, that the taking out of one, might not leave such stillness.

I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet know I how the heather looks, And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God, Nor visited in Heaven; Yet certain am I of the spot, As if a chart were given.

I do not like the man who squanders life for fame; give me the man who living makes a name.

We must be careful what we say. No bird resumes its egg.

Faith is a fine invention when Gentleman can see - but microscopes are prudent in an emergency