Remorse Is Memory Awake.

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers That Perches In The Soul.

A Sick Room Is At Times Too Sacred A Place For A Friend's Knock, Timid As That Is.

A Death-blow Is A Life-blow To Some Who, Till They Died, Did Not Alive Become; Who, Had They Lived, Had Died, But When They Died, Vitality Begun.

[a] Mother Is One To Whom You Hurry When You Are Troubled.

Enough Is So Vast A Sweetness I Suppose It Never Occurs.