Filled with her love, may I be rather grown Mad with much heart, than idiot with none.

Death is an ascension to a better library.

Great sorrows cannot speak.

What if this present were the world's last night?

We can die by it, if not live by love, And if unfit for tombs and hearse Our legend be, it will be fit for verse; And if no peace of chronicle we prove, We'll build in sonnet pretty rooms; As well a well wrought urne becomes The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs.

We love and understand talent; we wish it be within us. The truly gifted, those exceptional few, must wait for the world to catch up.

All occasions invite His mercies, and all times are His seasons.