Oft in the stilly night, Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond memory brings the light Of other days around me; The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone Now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken.
Cultivate simplicity, Coleridge.
She unbent her mind afterwards - over a book.
What have I gained by health? Intolerable dullness. What by mode meals? A total blank.
A Persian's heaven is eas'ly made: 'T is but black eyes and lemonade.
There was a little man, and he had a little soul; And he said, Little Soul, let us try, try, try!