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

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

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

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.

Given the books of a man, it is not difficult, I think, to detect therein the personality of the man, and the station in life to which he was born.

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

We grow like flowers, and bear desire, the odor of the human flowers.