Thus thought I, as by night I read Of the great army of the dead, The trenches cold and damp, The starved and frozen camp,-- The wounded from the battle-plain, In dreary hospitals of pain, The cheerless corridors, The cold and stony floors. Lo! in that house of misery A lady with a lamp I see Pass through the glimmering gloom And flit from room to room. And slow, as in a dream of bliss, The speechless sufferer turns to kiss Her shadow, as it falls Upon the darkening walls.

Our hearts are lamps for ever burning.

My soul is full of longing for the secret of the sea

I love an author the more for having been himself a lover of books.

The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain.

The Nile, forever new and old, Among the living and the dead, Its mighty, mystic stream has rolled.

A single conversation across the table with a wise man is better than ten years mere study of books.