“Lost in Hell,-Persephone,
Take her head upon your knee;
Say to her, "My dear, my dear,
It is not so dreadful here.”

“"Take my camel, dear," said my aunt Dot, as she climbed down from this animal on her return from High Mass.”

“They say a woman's place
Is to wait and serve
Under the veil
Submissive and dear
But I think my place
Is in a ship from space
To carry me
The hell out of here.”

“These Heaven decrees, and ever-fixed Fate.
But say, blest prophet, and the truth relate;
I see my mother's shade, who not her son
Will speak to, nor so much as look upon:
Silent she sits by sacred blood: ah, how
May she, poor shadow! her dear offspring know?”

“I needed love no words could say;
She drew me softly nigh her chair,
My head upon her knees to lay,
With cool hands that caressed my hair.
She sat with hands as if to bless,
And looked with grave, ethereal eyes;
Ensouled by ancient quietness,
A gentle priestess of the Wise.”

“"It's broccoli, dear."
"I say it's spinach, and I say the hell with it."”

“This is not good. This is not right. My feet stick out of bed all night. And when I pull them in, oh dear! My head sticks out of bed out here!”

“But You know, Landscape is my mistress — 't is to her that I look for fame — and all that the warmth of the imagination renders dear to Man.”

“It was no longer her absence that wounded me, but my growing indifference to it. Forgetting, however calming, was also a reminder of infidelity to what I had at one time held so dear.”

“She that asks
Her dear five hundred friends.”