"Oh—if you're aiming at perfection."
"Why, what else in Heaven's name should I aim at?"
Lucia was silent; and he mistook her silence for distrust.
"I don't want you to judge me by that sonnet."
"But I shouldn't dream of judging you by that sonnet, any more than I should judge that sonnet by its last two lines. They're not the last you'll ever write."
"They're the last you will ever read."
"Well, it's something to have written one good sonnet."
"One swallow doesn't make a spring."
"No; but it tells us spring is coming, and the other swallows."
"There won't be any other swallows. All my swallows have flown."