Ah, to build, to build! That is the noblest of all the arts.

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.

Dreams or illusions, call them what you will, they lift us from the commonplace of life to better things.

Whatever poet, orator, or sage may say of it, old age is still old age.

A boy's will is the wind's will, and the thought's of youth are long, long thoughhts

The Wreck of the Hesperus But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he.

The holiest of holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart.