Our birthdays are feathers in the broad wing of time.

Two aged men, that had been foes for life, Met by a grave, and wept - and in those tears They washed away the memory of their strife; Then wept again the loss of all those years.

For sleep, riches and health to be truly enjoyed and gratefully appreciated, they must be interrupted so the person can see that not having them is not as good as having them.

Only deeds give strength to life, only moderation gives it charm.

There are souls which fall from heaven like flowers, but ere they bloom are crushed under the foul tread of some brutal hoof.

Poverty is the only load which is the heavier the more loved ones there are to assist in bearing it.

Romanticism is beauty without bounds-the beautiful infinite.