Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.

Our blossoms of passion, gay and luxuriant flowers, are bright and full of fragrance, but they beguile us and lead us astray, and their odor is deadly.

The soul never grows old.

Music is the language spoken by angels.

Build today, then strong and sure, With a firm and ample base; And ascending and secure. Shall tomorrow find its place.

It has done me good to be somewhat parched by the heat and drenched by the rain of life.

The atmosphere breathes rest and comfort, and the many chambers seem full of welcomes.