I scarcely remember counting upon happiness—I look not for it if it be not in the present hour—nothing startles me beyond the moment. The setting sun will always set me to rights, or if a sparrow come before my Window I take part in its existence and pick about the gravel.

Land and sea, weakness and decline are great separators, but death is the great divorcer for ever.

To stay youthful, stay useful.

was it a vision or a waking dream? Fled is that music--do I wake or sleep?

I should write for the mere yearning and fondness I have for the beautiful, even if my night's labors should be burnt every morning and no eye shine upon them.

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that ofttimes hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

...yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From out dark spirits.