“Cold eyelids that hide like a jewelHard eyes that grow soft for an hour;The heavy white limbs, and the cruelRed mouth like a venomous flower;When these have gone by with their glories,What shall rest of thee then, what remain,O mystic and somber Delores,Our Lady of Pain?”

“O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frightened thee. That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness?”

“O what a blessed day that will be when I shall . . . stand on the shore and look back on the raging seas I have safely passed; when I shall review my pains and sorrows, my fears and tears, and possess the glory which was the end of all!”

“I love thee, I love but thee, With a love that shall not die Till the sun grows cold, And the stars are old”

“What is plucked will grow again, What is slain lives on, What is stolen will remain-- What is gone is gone.”

“Perhaps thee will best understand what Abigail is like if I tell thee that when she quilts she prefers to stitch in the ditch, hiding her poor stitches in the seams between the blocks.”