Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike.

Dead he is not, but departed, for the artist never dies.

Not chance of birth or place has made us friends, Being oftentimes of different tongues and nations, But the endeavor for the selfsame ends, With the same hopes, and fears, and aspirations.

Music is the universal language of mankind.

The holiest of holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart.

The day is dark and cold and dreary; it rains, and the wind is never weary.

Even He that died for us upon the cross, in the last hour, in the unutterable agony of death, was mindful of His mother, as if to teach us that this holy love should be our last worldly thought - the last point of earth from which the soul should take its flight for heaven.