The graves of those we have loved and lost distress and console as.

Always have old memories, and young hopes.

Happiness is always the inaccessible castle which sinks in ruin when we set foot on it.

The graves of those we have loved and lost distress and console as.

The heart is always young only in the recollection of those whom it has loved in youth.

Genius has its fatality. Must we not see in its works a manifestation of the will of Providence?

Imagination, whatever may be said to the contrary, will always hold a place in history, as truth does in romance. Has not romance been penned with history in view?