There is no death-the thing that we call death Is but another, sadder name for life, Which is itself an insufficient name, Faint recognition of that unknown life- That Power whose shadow is the Universe.

There are gains for all our losses, There are balms for all our pain: But when youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from our hearts, And it never comes again.

We love in others what we lack ourselves, and would be everything but what we are.

There is no death-the thing that we call death Is but another, sadder name for life, Which is itself an insufficient name, Faint recognition of that unknown life- That Power whose shadow is the Universe.

Children are the keys of Paradise. They alone are good and wise, because their thoughts, their very lives are prayer.

There is no hope the future will but turn the old sand in the falling glass of time.

Silence is the speech of love, The music of the spheres above.