I have not loved the world, nor the world me, but let us part fair foes; I do believe, though I have found them not, that there may be words which are things, hopes which will not deceive, and virtues which are merciful, or weave snares for the failing: I would also deem o'er others' griefs that some sincerely grieve; that two, or one, are almost what they seem, that goodness is no name, and happiness no dream.

Opinions are made to be changed or how is truth to be got at?

No hand can make the clock strike for me the hours that are passed.

I die but first I have possessed, And come what may, I have been blessed.

History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page.

A timid mind is apt to mistake every scratch for a mortal wound.

Just as old age is creeping on space, And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day, They kindly leave us, though not quite alone, But in good company--the gout or stone.