[O]ut of books / He taught me all the ignorance of men, / And how God laughs in heaven when any man / Says 'Here I'm learned; this, I understand; / I… - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Flushie did not seem to think the harp alive when it was taken out of the window and laid close to him. He examined it particularly, and is a philosophical dog. But I am sure that at first and while it was playing he thought so. In the same way he can’t bear me to look into a glass, because he thinks there is a little brown dog inside every looking glass, and he is jealous of its being so close to me. He used to tremble and bark at it, but now he is silently jealous, and contents himself with squeezing close, close to me and kissing me expressively.

By thunders of white silence.

"Guess now who holds thee?"—"Death," I said. But there
The silver answer rang—"Not Death, but Love."