There grows No herb of help to heal a coward heart.

Despair the twin-born of devotion.

Time turns the old days to derision, Our loves into corpses or wives.

There is no such thing as a dumb poet or a handless painter. The essence of an artist is that he should be articulate.

But now, you are twain, you are cloven apart Flesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart.

To have read the greatest works of any great poet, to have beheld or heard the greatest works of any great painter or musician, is a possession added to the best things of life.

Faith speaks when hope is disassembled; faith lives when hope dies dead.