It is a rich storehouse for those who love quotations. It is as full of fine bon mots as a Christmas pudding is full of plums.

What is man's love? His vows are broke even while his parting kiss is warm.

Beauty,--the fading rainbow's pride.

The wild-flower wreath of feeling, the sunbeam of the heart.

None knew thee but to love thee.

I cannot spare the luxury of believing that all things beautiful are what they seem.

I sorrow that all fair things must decay.