Ring out the grief that saps the mind, for those that were here we see no more.

Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace;Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,While the stars burn, the moons increase,And the great ages onward roll. Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet. Nothing comes to thee new or strange. Sleep full of rest from head to feet;Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.

Once in a golden hour, I cast to earth a seed, And up there grew a flower, That others called a weed.

The quiet sense of something lost

It is unconceivable that the whole Universe was merely created for us who live in this third-rate planet of a third-rate moon.

Those who depend on the merits of their ancestors may be said to search in the roots of the tree for those fruits which the branches ought to produce.

He that shuts love out, in turn shall be Shut out from love, and on her threshold lie, Howling in outer darkness.