Softly the evening came /with the sunset/.

Many readers judge of the power of a book by the shock it gives their feelings - as some savage tribes determine the power of muskets by their recoil; that being considered best which fairly prostrates the purchaser.

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

There's nothing in this world so sweet as love. And next to love the sweetest thing is hate.

There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.

Sweet as the tender fragrance that survives, When martyred flowers breathe out their little lives, Sweet as a song that once consoled our pain, But never will be sung to us again, Is they remembrance. Now the hour of rest Hath come to thee. Sleep, darling: it is best.

In this world a man must either be anvil or hammer.