It is simpler and easier to flatter people than to praise them.

There is a joy in sorrow which none but a mourner can know.

Gray hairs seem to my fancy like the soft light of the moon, silvering over the evening of life.

Has it never occurred to us, when surrounded by sorrows, that they may be sent to us only for our instruction, as we darken the eyes of birds when we wish them to sing?

Ah! The seasons of love roll not backward but onward, downward forever.

Joy descends gently upon us like the evening dew, and does not patter down like a hailstorm.

Individuality is to be preserved and respected everywhere, as the root of everything good.