“All that in this delightful garden grows, should happy be and have immortal bliss.”

“My soul, be satisfied with flowers,With fruit, with weeds even; but gather themIn the one garden you may call your own.”

“To sing, to laugh, to dream, to walk in my own way and be alone, free, with an eye to see things as they are, a voice that means manhood—to cock my hat where I choose—At a word, a Yes, a No, to fight—or write. To travel any road under the sun, under the stars, nor doubt if fame or fortune lie beyond the bourne—Never to make a line I have not heard in my own heart; yet, with all modesty to say: "My soul, be satisfied with flowers, with fruit, with weeds even; but gather them in the one garden you may call your own.”

“To boast wonder takes great courage. Being left speechless with joy is not for the weak. We forget to be surprised by everyday miracles, like toast springing up, the mesmerizing blue in the sky, or even simple friendships. To touch and remember this delicate sense of wonder, we travel. We deliberately let ourselves become tourists to welcome in this unique delight.”

“My heart to yours sends but one cry:If kisses fast could fleeBy letter, then with your sweet lipsMy letters read should be!”

“I love you, but I should poorly serve the work to which I devote myself anew at the side of one to whom it were less than the greatest thing in the world!”

“All my laurels you have riven away, and my roses; yet in spite of you, there is one crown I bear away with me... One thing without stain, unspotted from the world, in spite of doom mine own! And that is... my white plume.”