He alone has lost the art to live who cannot win new friends.
The arctic loneliness of age.
Death's but one more to-morrow.
Medicine is only palliative. For behind disease lies the cause and this cause NO DRUG can reach.
Alas, how can we help but mourn When hero bosoms yield their breath! A century itself may bear But once the flower of such a death.
There are those who suffer and grow strong; there are those who suffer and grow weak. This mystery of pain is still for me the saddest of earth's disabilities.