Through strife the slumbering soul awakes, We learn on error's troubled route The truths we could not prize without The sorrow of our sad mistakes.

Let us clear a little space, And make Love a burial-place. He is dead, dear, as you see, And he wearies you and me.

'Tis they who are in their own chambers haunted By thoughts that like unbidden guests intrude, And sit down, uninvited and unwanted, And make a nightmare of the solitude.

Life is too short for any vain regretting... Between the swift sun's rising and its setting, we have no time for useless tears or fretting, life is too short.... Time is the best avenger if we wait, the years speed by, and on their wings bear healing, life is too short for aught but high endeavor-too short for spite, but long enough for love. And love lives on forever and forever.

So many gods, so many creeds, so many paths that wind and wind while just the art of being kind is all the sad world needs.

A pat on the back is only a few vertebrae removed from a kick in the pants, but is miles ahead in results.

There is nothing ridiculous in love.