Make not thyself the judge of any man.

And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, and silently steal away.

Love gives itself; it is not bought.

Every man has a paradise around him till he sins, and the angel of an accusing conscience drives him from his Eden.

And when she was good she was very very good. But when she was bad she was horrid.

All the means of action -- the shapeless masses -- the materials -- lie everywhere about us. What we need is the celestial fire to change the flint into the transparent crystal, bright and clear. That fire is genius.

Love makes its record in deeper colors as we grow out of childhood into manhood; as the Emperors signed their names in green ink when under age, but when of age, in purple.