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 end we aim at must be known, before the way can be made.
Joys are our wings, sorrows our spurs.
feelings of man are always pure and the brightest to the meeting time and Farewell.
Despair is the only genuine atheism.
The words that a father speaks to his children in the privacy of home are not heard by the world, but, as in whispering galleries, they are clearly heard at the end, and by posterity.