Who so loves believes the impossible.
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- How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.
- At painful times, when composition is impossible and reading is not enough, grammars and dictionaries are excellent for distraction.
- It is not merely the likeness which is precious… but the association and the sense of nearness involved in the thing… the fact of the very shadow of the person lying there fixed forever! It is the very sanctification of portraits I think — and it is not at all monstrous in me to say that I would rather have such a memorial of one I dearly loved, than the noblest Artist’s work ever produced.
- The works of women are symbolical. We sew, sew, prick our fingers, dull our sight, producing what? A pair of slippers, sir, to put on when you’re weary — or a stool. To stumble over and vex you… curse that stool! Or else at best, a cushion, where you lean and sleep, and dream of something we are not, but would be for your sake. Alas, alas! This hurts most, this… that, after all, we are paid the worth of our work, perhaps.
- Measure not the work until the day’s out and the labor’s done.
- Eve is a twofold mystery.