Every man has a rainy corner of his life whence comes foul weather which follows him.

The darkness of death is like the evening twilight; it makes all objects appear more lovely to the dying.

The last, best fruit which comes to late perfection, even in the kindliest soul, is tenderness toward the hard, forbearance toward the unforbearing, warmth of heart toward the cold, philanthropy toward the misanthropic.

Romanticism is beauty without bounds-the beautiful infinite.

He thought of the mouldering child, which laid its withered thin arms around his soul, as if it were his own, and to whom Death had given as much as a god gave to Endymion, — sleep, eternal youth, and immortality.

Age doesn't matter, unless your cheese.

Variety of mere nothings gives more pleasure than uniformity of something.