Be true, and thou shalt fetter time with everlasting chain.
Weep, for the light is dead.
The universe is a thought of God.
Death is a mighty mediator. There all the flames of rage are extinguished, hatred is appeased, and angelic pity, like a weeping sister, bends with gentle and close embrace over the funeral urn.
Wise to resolve, patient to perform.
A noble soul spreads even over a face in which the architectonic beauty is wanting an irresistible grace, and a often even triumphs over the natural disfavor.