Sweet April's tears, Dead on the hem of May.

The sea complains upon a thousand shores.

If we were to live here always, with no other care than how to feed, clothe, and house ourselves, life would be a very sorry business. It is immeasurably heightened by the solemnity of death.

I have learned to prize the quiet, lightning deed, not the applauding thunder at its heels that men call fame.

I would rather be remembered by a song than by a victory.

It is a characteristic of pleasure that we can never recognize it to be pleasure till after it is gone.

If the egotist is weak, his egotism is worthless. If the egotist is strong, acute, full of distinctive character, his egotism is precious, and remains a possession of the race.