There is a grace of life which is still yours, my dear Europe.

You don't help people in your poems. I've been trying to help people all my life - that's my trouble.

Dear Lord, I'm so grateful I'm still loved.

Don't let people run your life. It's yours. You run it, the way you want it.

Drink with me, my dear, said Mr. Weller. "Put your lips to this here tumbler, and then I can kiss you by deputy."

Europe has been in my bones.