The dawn is not distant, nor is the night starless; love is eternal.

So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest.

He spoke well who said that graves are the footprints of angels.

The true poet is a friendly man. He takes to his arms even cold and inanimate things, and rejoices in his heart.

White swan of cities slumbering in thy nest . . . White phantom city, whose untrodden streets Are rivers, and whose pavements are the shifting Shadows of the palaces and strips of sky.

To say the least, a town life makes one more tolerant and liberal in one's judgment of others.

Where'er a noble deed is wrought, Where'er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts in glad surprise To higher levels rise.