Books are the best type of the influence of the past.
And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy because We have been glad of yore.
Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--But how could I forget thee?
The child is father of the man: And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
Write to me frequently & the longest letters possible; never mind whether you have facts or no to communicate; fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.