Sometimes we are less unhappy in being deceived by those we love, than in being undeceived by them.
No words suffice the secret soul to show, For truth denies all eloquence to woe.
I am acquainted with no immaterial sensuality so delightful as good acting.
What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life's page, And be alone on earth, as I am now.
The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.
And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; They have a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being.