Nothing but stillness can remain when hearts are full Of their own sweetness, bodies of their loveliness.

We are happy when for everything inside us there is a corresponding something outside us.

I bring you with reverent hands The books of my numberless dreams.

Farewell - farewell, For I am weary of the weight of time.

Many times man lives and dies between his two eternities: that of race and that of Soul... A brief parting from those dear is the worst man has to fear... Though grave diggers' toil is long... They but thrust their buried men back in the human mind again.

An aged man is but a paltry thing, a tattered coat upon a stick, unless soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing for every tatter in its mortal dress.

On limestone quarried near the spot By his command these words are cut: Cast a cold eye On life, on death. Horseman, pass by!