Paradise is always where love dwells.
Variety of mere nothings gives more pleasure than uniformity of something.
The romance of life begins and ends with two blank pages. Age and extreme old age.
Poverty is the only load which is the heavier the more loved ones there are to assist in bearing it.
Joy descends gently upon us like the evening dew, and does not patter down like a hailstorm.
Gray hairs seem to my fancy like the soft light of the moon, silvering over the evening of life.