Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, oh sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me.

Happy days roll onward leading up to golden years.

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore, And the individual withers, and the world is more and more.

Woman is the lesser man.

And every dew-drop paints a bow.

The parting of a husband and wife is like the cleaving of a heart; one half will flutter here, one there.

Sweet is every sound, sweeter the voice, but every sound is sweet.