Memory, wit, fancy, acuteness, cannot grow young again in old age, but the heart can.

It is not the end of joy that makes old age so sad, but the end of hope.

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

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.

The heart needs not for its heaven much space, nor many stars therein, if only the star of love has arisen.

I have made as much out of myself as could be made of the stuff, and no man should require more.

Laughing cheerfulness throws the light of day on all the paths of life.