It is a beautiful trait in the lover's character, that they think no evil of the object loved.

Very hot and still the air was, Very smooth the gliding river, Motionless the sleeping shadows.

How beautiful the silent hour, when morning and evening thus sit together, hand in hand, beneath the starless sky of midnight!

He that respects himself is safe from others. He wears a coat of mail that none can pierce.

When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music.

In old age our bodies are worn-out instruments, on which the soul tries in vain to play the melodies of youth. But because the instrument has lost its strings, or is out of tune, it does not follow that the musician has lost his skill.

For age is opportunity no less Than youth itself, though in another dress, And as the evening twilight fades away The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.