Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.

Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.

It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know that it has begun.

But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise.

When you ask one friend to dine, Give him your best wine! When you ask two, The second best will do!

When Christ ascended Triumphantly from star to star He left the gates of Heaven ajar.

Art is the child of nature in whom we trace the features of the mothers face.