We Could Never Have Loved

The Worst Service, I Fancy, That Anyone Can Do For Truth, Is To Set Silly People Writing On Its Behalf.

The Best Travel Is That Which One Can Take By One's Own Fireside. In Memory Or Imagination.

How Is It That The Poets Have Said So Many Fine Things About Our First Love, So Few About Our Later Love? Are Their First Poems Their Best? Or Are Not Those The Best Which Come From Their Fuller Thought, Their Larger Experience, Their Deeper-rooted Affections? The Boy's Flute-like Voice Has Its Own Spring Charm; But The Man Should Yield A Richer, Deeper Music.

It Is Surely Better To Pardon Too Much, Than To Condemn Too Much.

Time, Like Money, Is Measured By Our Needs.