the fact is, that life is too short to be occupied by aught but the present - hope and remembrance are equally a waste of time.

I think hearts are very much like glasses. If they do not break with the first ring, they usually last a considerable time.

We would liken music to Aladdin's lamp — worthless in itself, not so for the spirits which obey its call. We love it for the buried hopes, the garnered memories, the tender feelings, it can summon with a touch.

A sealed book, at whose contents we tremble.

Farewell's a bitter word to say.

Assuredly, meeting after absence, is one of - ah, no! - it is life's most delicious feeling.

Conscience, like a child, is soon lulled to sleep.