They say that Hope is happiness But genuine Love must prize the past; And Mem'ry wakes the thoughts that bless: They rose first -- they set the last. And all that mem'ry loves the most Was once our only hope to be: And all that hope adored and lost Hath melted into memory. Alas! It is delusion all-- The future cheats us from afar: Nor can we be what we recall, Nor dare we think on what we are.

And Doubt and Discord step 'twixt thine and thee.

There is something pagan in me that I cannot shake off. In short, I deny nothing, but doubt everything.

In itself a thought, a slumbering thought is capable of years; and curdles a long life into one hour.

I love the language, it sounds as if it should be writ on satin with syllables which breathe of the sweet South

I do not believe in any religion, I will have nothing to do with immortality. We are miserable enough in this life without speculating upon another.

Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were.