When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree: Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet: And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain; I shall not hear the nightingale Sing on as if in pain: And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set, Haply I may remember, And haply I may forget.

Faith is like a lily, lifted high and white.

A man is ever apt to contemplate himself out of all proportion to his surroundings.

Consider The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:-- We are as they; Like them we fade away As doth a leaf.

And may you happy live, And long us bless.

We must not look at goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?

Good deeds are many, but good lives are few.