The Pale Child, Eve, Leading Her Mother,

I Go Into My Library And All History Unrolls Before Me.

There Is No Ghost So Difficult To Lay As The Ghost Of An Injury.

How Deeply Seated In The Human Heart Is The Liking For Gardens And Gardening.

There Is Nothing Good In This World Which Time Does Not Improve.

We Bury Love; Forgetfulness Grows Over It Like Grass: That Is A Thing To Weep For, Not The Dead.