The years seem to rush by now, and I think of death as a fast approaching end of a journey-double and treble reason for loving as well as working while it is day.

Let my body dwell in poverty, and my hands be as the hands of the toiler; but let my soul be as a temple of remembrance where the treasures of knowledge enter and the inner sanctuary is hope.

There's folks 'ud hold a sieve under the pump and expect to carry away the water.

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.

In Rome it seems as if there were so many things which are more wanted in the world than pictures.

Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.

Of all forms of human error, prophesy is the most avoidable.