We may live without poetry, music and art; We may live without conscience, and live without heart; We may live without friends; we may live without books; But civilized man cannot live without cooks. . . . He may live without books,-what is knowledge but grieving? He may live without hope,-what is hope but deceiving? He may live without love,-what is passion but pining? But where is the man that can live without dining?

They only fall, that strive to move, Or lose, that care to keep.

Do not think that years leave us and find us the same!

The world is a nettle; disturb it, it stings. Grasp it firmly, it stings not.

Thought alone is eternal.

There is purpose in pain; otherwise it were devilish.

Heaven's slow but sure redress of human ills.