Every man has his secret sorrows.

It is autumn; not without But within me is the cold. Youth and spring are all about; It is I that have grown old.

Fame comes only when deserved, and then is as inevitable as destiny, for it is destiny.

The soul never grows old.

The Helicon of too many poets is not a hill crowned with sunshine and visited by the Muses and the Graces, but an old, mouldering house, full of gloom and haunted by ghosts.

The smoking flax before it burst to flame Was quenched by death, and broken the bruised reed.

Ambition is so powerful a passion in the human breast, that however high we reach we are never satisfied.