True love's the gift which God has given To man alone beneath the heaven: It is not fantasy's hot fire, Whose wishes soon as granted fly; It liveth not in fierce desire.

Greatness of any kind has no greater foe than a habit of drinking.

Whose lenient sorrows find relief, whose joys are chastened by their grief.

It is only when I dally with what I am about, look back and aside, instead of keeping my eyes straight forward, that I feel these cold sinkings of the heart.

Each age has deemed the new-born year the fittest time for festal cheer.

He that climbs the tall tree has won right to the fruit, He that leaps the wide gulf should prevail in his suit.

Some feelings are to mortals given With less of earth in them than heaven.