Reason respects the differences, and imagination the similitudes of things.

Music, when soft voices die Vibrates in the memory.

When you can discover where the fresh colors of the faded flower abide, or the music of the broken lyre, seek life among the dead. Such are the anxious and fearful contemplations of the common observer, though the popular religion often prevents him from confessing them even to himself.

Peace is in the grave.

Fame, power, and gold, are loved for their own sakes - are worshipped with a blind, habitual idolatry.

Ah, woe is me! Winter is come and gone. But grief returns with the revolving year.

The Galilean is not a favorite of mine. So far from owing him any thanks for his favor, I cannot avoid confessing that I owe a secret grudge to his carpentership.