Nothing that is can pause or stay; / The moon will wax, the moon will wane, / The mist and cloud will turn to rain, / The rain to mist and cloud again, / Tomorrow be today.

Our hearts are lamps for ever burning.

The men that women marry, And why they marry them, will always be A marvel and a mystery to the world.

Like black hulks the shadows of the great trees ride at anchor on the billowy sea of grass.

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

There is nothing perfectly secure but poverty.

How like they are to human things!