Tell me, sweet eyes, from what divinest star did ye drink in your liquid melancholy?

What's money without happiness?

To how many is the death of the beloved the parent of faith!

A chord, stronger or weaker, is snapped asunder in every parting, and time's busy fingers are not practiced in re-splicing broken ties. Meet again you may; will it be in the same way? With the same sympathies? With the same sentiments? Will the souls, hurrying on in diverse paths, unite once more, as if the interval had been a dream? Rarely, rarely!

Give, and you may keep your friend it you lose your money; lend, and the chances are that you lose your friend if ever you get back your money.

Castles in the air cost a vast deal to keep up.

Writers are the main landmarks of the past.