But friendship is the breathing rose, with sweets in every fold.

Without wearing any mask we are conscious of, we have a special face for each friend.

Wisdom is the abstract of the past, but beauty is the promise of the future.

Our brains are seventy-year clocks. The Angel of Life winds them up once for all, then closes the case, and gives the key into the hand of the Angel of the Resurrection.

See how he throws his baited lines about,/And plays his men as anglers play their trout.

Whatever comes from the brain carries the hue of the place it came from, and whatever comes from the heart carries the heat and color of its birthplace.

Language is the blood of the soul into which thoughts run and out of which they grow.