The death of a man's wife is like cutting down an ancient oak that has long shaded the family mansion. Henceforth the glare of the world, with its cares and vicissitudes falls upon the old widower's heart, and there is nothing to break their force, or shield him from the full weight of misfortune. It is as if his right hand were withered; as if one wing of his angel was broken, and every movement that he made brought him to the ground.

Poetry has been the guardian angel of humanity in all ages.

Poets and heroes are of the same race, the latter do what the former conceive.

Sentiment is the poetry of the imagination.

History is neither more nor less than biography on a large scale.

Assassination makes only martyrs, not converts.

Sometimes, only one person is missing, and the whole world seems depopulated.