Nothing wilts faster than laurels that have been rested upon.

The moon of Mahomet Arose, and it shall set; While, blazoned as on heaven's immortal noon, The cross leads generations on.

Their errors have been weighed and found to have been dust in the balance; if their sins were as scarlet, they are now white as snow: they have been washed in the blood of the mediator and the redeemer, Time.

Tragedy delights by affording a shadow of the pleasure which exists in pain.

Those who love not their fellow-beings live unfruitful lives, and prepare for their old age a miserable grave.

...Ere midnight’s frown and morning’s smile, ere thou and peace may meet.

What is Love? It is that powerful attraction towards all that we conceive, or fear, or hope beyond ourselves.