“The Pilgrim Queen(A Song)There sat a Lady all on the ground,Rays of the morning circled her round,Save thee, and hail to thee, Gracious and Fair,In the chill twilight what wouldst thou there?'Here I sit desolate,' sweetly said she,'Though I'm a queen, and my name is Marie:Robbers have rifled my garden and store,Foes they have stolen my heir from my bower. 'They said they could keep Him far better than I,In a palace all His, planted deep and raised high.'Twas a palace of ice, hard and cold as were they,And when summer came, it all melted away.'Next would they barter Him, Him the Supreme,For the spice of the desert, and gold of the stream;And me they bid wander in weeds and alone,In this green merry land which once was my own.'I look'd on that Lady, and out from her eyesCame the deep glowing blue of Italy's skies; And she raised up her head and she smiled, as a QueenOn the day of her crowning, so bland and serene.'A moment,' she said, 'and the dead shall revive;The giants are failing, the Saints are alive;I am coming to rescue my home and my reign,And Peter and Philip are close in my train.”

“God has created me to do Him some definite service. He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission. I may never know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next. I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons.He has not created me for naught. I shall do good; I shall do His work. I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place, while not intending it if I do but keep His commandments.Therefore, I will trust Him, whatever I am, I can never be thrown away. If I am in sickness, my sickness may serve Him, in perplexity, my perplexity may serve Him. If I am in sorrow, my sorrow may serve Him. He does nothing in vain. He knows what He is about. He may take away my friends. He may throw me among strangers. He may make me feel desolate, make my spirits sink, hide my future from me. Still, He knows what He is about.”

“Lead, Kindly Light, amidst th'encircling gloom,Lead Thou me on!The night is dark, and I am far from home,Lead Thou me on!Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to seeThe distant scene; one step enough for me.I was not ever thus, nor prayed that ThouShouldst lead me on;I loved to choose and see my path; but nowLead Thou me on!I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years!So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it stillWill lead me on.O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, tillThe night is gone,And with the morn those angel faces smile,Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile!Meantime, along the narrow rugged path,Thyself hast trod,Lead, Saviour, lead me home in childlike faith,Home to my God.To rest forever after earthly strifeIn the calm light of everlasting life.”

“She was forcing it with her scorn, the kiss she gave me, the hard curl of her lips, the mockery of her eyes, until I was like a man made of wood and there was no feeling within me except terror and a fear of her, a sense that her beauty was too much, that she was so much more beautiful than I, deeper rooted than I. She made me a stranger unto myself, she was all of those calm nights and tall eucalyptus trees, the desert stars, that land and sky, that fog outside, and I had come there with no purpose save to be a mere writer, to get money, to make a name for myself and all that piffle. She was so much finer than I, so much more honest, that I was sick of myself and I could not look at her warm eyes, I suppressed the shiver brought on by her brown arms around my neck and the long fingers in my hair. I did not kiss her. She kissed me, author of The Little Dog Laughed. Then she took my wrist with her two hands. She pressed her lips into the palm of my hand. She placed my hand upon her bosom between her breasts. She turned her lips towards my face and waited. And Arturo Bandini, the great author dipped deep into his colourful imagination, romantic Arturo Bandini, just chock-full of clever phrases, and he said, weakly, kittenishly, 'Hello.”

“so my grandmother was not without humanity. and if she wore cocktail dresses when she labored in the garden, they were cocktail dresses she no longer intended to wear to cocktail parties. even in her rose garden she did not want to appear underdressed. if the dresses got too dirty from gardening, she threw them out. when my mother suggested to her that she might have them cleaned, my grandmother said, "what? and have those people at the cleaners what i was doing in a dress to make it that dirty?"from my grandmother i learned that logic is relative.”

“i am standing upon the seashore. a ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. she is an object of beauty and strength. i stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other. then someone at my side says: "there, she is gone!" "gone where?" gone from my sight. that is all. she is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and she is just as able to bear the load of living freight to her destined port. her diminished size is in me, not in her. and just at the moment when someone at my side says: "there, she is gone!" there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout: "here she comes!" and that is dying.”

“She raised her head again. "Aren't you supposed to come over all manly man and forbid the little lady from taking such risks with her fragile self?" "I like my balls right where they are," he said, and she laughed and put her head back down on his chest.Kate Shugak to Jim Chopin Though Not Dead”