I slept and dreamt that life was beauty; I woke and found that life was duty.
None are so desolate but something dear, Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd A thought, and claims the homage of a tear.
Here's a sigh to those who love me,And a smile to those who hate;And, whatever sky's above me,Here's a heart for every fate.
Talent may be in time forgiven, but genius never
Armenian is the language to speak with God.
A quiet conscience makes one so serene.