Sit in reverie and watch the changing color of the waves that break upon the idle seashore of the mind.

If we could read the secret history of our enemies we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.

As the heart is, so is love to the heart. It partakes of its strength or weakness, its health or disease.

Silence and solitude, the soul's best friends.

Often times we call a man [or woman] cold when he [or she] is only sad.

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

A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.