Though an angel should write, still 'tis devils must print.

It is not while beauty And youth are thine own And thy cheeks Unprofaned by a tear That the ferver and faith Of a soul can be known To which time will but Make thee more dear No the heart that has truly loved Never forgets But as truly loves On to the close As the sunflower turns On her god when he sets The same look which She'd turned when he rose.

Humility, that low, sweet root, from which all heavenly virtues shoot.

This wretched brain gave way, and I became a wreck at random driven, without one glimpse of reason or heaven.

All that's bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest.

The heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close.

Finding the right work is like discovering your own soul in the world.