“My dear, my dearest dust; I come, I come.”

“Come hither, my dear. Come hither, that I mightest protectest thou!”

“Yowpee! I pulls my brandin' irons an' comes out a-bitin' the dust—a reg'lar Hoopalong Cassowary!”

“There has fallen a splendid tearFrom the passion-flower at the gate.She is coming, my dove, my dear;She is coming, my life, my fate.The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;"And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;"And the lily whispers, "I wait." She is coming, my own, my sweet;Were it ever so airy a tread,My heart would hear her and beat,Were it earth in an earthy bed;My dust would hear her and beat,Had I lain for a century dead,Would start and tremble under her feet,And blossom in purple and red.”

“It's not that I don't like people. It's just that when I'm in the company of others - even my nearest and dearest - there always comes a moment when I'd rather be reading a book.”

“Dearest Daughter. I knew you would not be long in coming to me. Joy shall be yours.”