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Girls blush, sometimes, because they are alive, half wishing they were dead to save the shame. The sudden blush devours them, neck and brow; They have drawn too near the fire of life, like gnats, and flare up bodily, wings and all. What then? Who's sorry for a gnat or girl?

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861) British poet.

He scratched his ear, the infallible resource to which embarrassed people have recourse.

Lord Byron (1788-1824) British poet.

There's a blush for won t, and a blush for shan't, and a blush for having done it: There's a blush for thought and a blush for naught, and a blush for just begun it.

John Keats (1795-1821) British poet.