Mine are the children's curls and the bride's veil.

I am welcomed to the Christmas tree, and the sewing-machine, and the editor's table.

I have cut my way through the ages.
Beside pen, and sword, and needle, I dare to stand anywhere, indispensable to the race, the world-renowned scissors! But I had a sad mission once.

The bell tolled in the New England village because a soul had passed.

I sat up all the night cutting the pattern for a shroud.