For the Infinite has sowed his name in the heavens in burning stars, but on the earth He has sowed his name in tender flowers.

Universal love is a glove without fingers, which fits all bands alike and none closely; but true affection is like a glove with fingers, which fits one hand only, and sits close to that one.

Repetition is the mother of education.

What Cicero said of men-that they are like wines, age souring the bad, and bettering the good-we can say of misfortune, that it has the same effect upon them.

Music is moonlight in the gloomy night of life.

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.

What makes old age so sad is, not that our joys, but that our hopes then cease.