Soul meets soul on lovers' lips.

Worse than a bloody hand is a hard heart.

Many a green isle needs must be In the deep wide sea of Misery, Or the mariner, worn and wan, Never thus could voyage on.

Forget the dead, the past? O yet there are ghosts that may take revenge for it, memories that make the heart a tomb, regrets which gild thro’ the spirit’s gloom, and with ghastly whispers tell that joy, once lost, is pain.

Death is the veil which those who live call life; They sleep, and it is lifted.

Kiss me, so long but as a kiss may last!

Nothing wilts faster than laurels that have been rested upon.