That loss is common would not make My own less bitter, rather more: Too common! Never morning wore To evening, but some heart did break.

No rock so hard but that a little wave may beat admission in a thousand years.

He that wrongs a friend Wrongs himself more, and ever bears about A silent court of justice in his breast, Himself the judge and jury, and himself The prisoner at the bar ever condemned.

The words 'far, far away' had always a strange charm.

Tis held that sorrow makes us wise.

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.

I will be deafer than the blue-eyed cat, And thrice as blind as any noonday owl, To holy virgins in their ecstasies.