There is nothing perfectly secure but poverty.

But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise.

There is no death! What seems so is transition; this life of mortal breath is but a suburb of the life elysian, whose portal we call Death.

Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted; If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment; That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.

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

The shadows of the mind are like those of the body. In the morning of life they all lie behind us; at noon we trample them under foot; and in the evening they stretch long, broad, and deepening before us.

See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away Over the snowy peaks!