“How shameful. How predictable! How insipid. And how sweet.”

“How innocent, how beautiful thy sleep!
Sweet one, 'tis peace and joy to gaze on thee!”

“How ill, alas! do want and shame agree!”

“Sweet, can I sing you the song of your kisses?
How soft is this one, how subtle this is,
How fluttering swift as a bird's kiss that is,
As a bird that taps at a leafy lattice;
How this one clings and how that uncloses
From bud to flower in the way of roses.”

“How sweet to die after one’s enemies.”

“I praise the Frenchman [Voltaire], his remark was shrewd —
How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude!
But grant me still a friend in my retreat
Whom I may whisper — solitude is sweet.”

“It is shaming sometimes, how the body will not, or cannot, lie about emotions.”

“What a psalm the storm was singing, and how fresh the smell of the washed earth and leaves, and how sweet the still small voices of the storm!”

“It frightens me the awful truth of how sweet life can be.”

“By cool Siloam's shady rill
How sweet the lily grows!”