In every parting there is an image of death.

Perhaps nothing ud be a lesson to us if it didn't come too late. It's well we should feel as life's a reckoning we can't make twice over; there's no real making amends in this world, any more nor you can mend a wrong subtraction by doing your addition right.

Susceptible persons are more affected by a change of tone that by unexpected words.

The finest language is mostly made up of simple unimposing words.

We have all our secret sins; and if we knew ourselves we should not judge each other harshly.

Death is the king of this world: 'Tis his park where he breeds life to feed him. Cries of pain are music for his banquet.

Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them.