From dust thou art to dust returneth, was not spoken of the soul.

As I gaze upon the sea! All the old romantic legends, all my dreams, come back to me.

Nature paints not; In oils, but frescoes the great dome of heaven; With sunsets, and the lovely forms of clouds; And flying vapors.

He looks the whole world in the face for he owes not any man.

Hope has as many lives as a cat or a king.

Sit in reverie and watch the changing color of the waves that break upon the idle seashore of the mind.

A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.