Poetry is the exquisite expression of exquisite impressions.

When unhappy, one doubts everything when happy one doubts nothing.

The city does not take away, neither does the country give, solitude; solitude is within us.

Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes.

The Holy Scriptures praise the dew of the morning and the dew of the evening; ros matutinum, ros serotinum! Happy is he who possesses the gift of tears! when young, he will bear flowers; when old, fruit!

The folly which we might have ourselves committed is the one which we are least ready to pardon in another.

Interest, ambition, fortune, time, temper, love, all kill friendship.