“But the roaring of the fire,And the warmth of fur,And the boiling of the kettleWere beautiful to her!”

“Beautiful as a dandelion-blossom, golden in the green grass,This life can be.Common as a dandelion-blossom, beautiful in the clean grass, not beautifulBecause common, beautiful because beautiful,Noble because common, because free.”

“She had a horror he would die at night.And sometimes when the light began to fadeShe could not keep from noticing how whiteThe birches looked — and then she would be afraid,Even with a lamp, to go about the houseAnd lock the windows; and as night wore onToward morning, if a dog howled, or a mouseSqueaked in the floor, long after it was goneHer flesh would sit awry on her. By dayShe would forget somewhat, and it would seemA silly thing to go with just this dreamAnd get a neighbor to come at night and stay.But it would strike her sometimes, making tea:_She had kept that kettle boiling all night long, for company._”

“Catch from the board of beauty/ Such careless crumbs as fall.”

“And must I then, indeed, Pain, live with youall through my life?-sharing my fire, my bed,Sharing-oh, worst of all things!-the same head?-And, when I feed myself, feeding you too?”

“Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind; Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave. I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned. ”

“She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,And her mouth on a valentine.”