It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm further off from heaven Than when I was a boy.

The Autumn is old; The sere leaves are flying; He hath gather'd up gold, And now he is dying;- Old age, begin sighing!

Some dreams we have are nothing else but dreams, Unnatural and full of contradictions; Yet others of our most romantic schemes, Are something more than fictions.

No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds - November!

I resolved that, like the sun, as long as my day lasted, I would look on the bright side of everything.

There are three things which the public will always clamour for, sooner or later; namely: novelty, novelty, novelty.

Gold! gold! gold! gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold!