“What do we know but that we face one another in this place?”

“That beautiful mild woman for whose sakeThere's many a one shall find out all heartacheOn finding that her voice is sweet and lowReplied, 'To be born a woman is to know-Although they do not talk of it at school -That we must labor to be beautiful.”

“We taste and feel and see the truth. We do not reason ourselves into it.”

“There is another world, but it is in this one.”

“O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,How can we know the dancer from the dance?”

“Why, what could she have done, being what she is? Was there another Troy for her to burn?”

“One had a lovely face,And two or three had charm,But charm and face were in vainBecause the mountain grassCannot but keep the formWhere the mountain hare has lain.- Memory”