It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know that it has begun.
Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate, Who ne'er the mournful midnight hours Weeping upon his bed has sate, He knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers.
Ne speaketh not; and yet there lies a conversation in his eyes.
Art is the gift of God, and must be used unto His glory.
Make not thyself the judge of any man.
Something the heart must have to cherish, Must love and joy and sorrow learn; Something with passion clasp, or perish And in itself to ashes burn.