I Would Give Worlds, Could I Believe

In Our Road Through Life We May Happen To Meet With A Man Casting A Stone Reverentially To Enlarge The Cairn Of Another Which Stone He Has Carried In His Bosom To Sling Against That Very Other's Head.

... True Love Is Like Religion, It Hath Its Silence And Its Sanctity.

Ah, Tell Me Not That Memory Sheds Gladness O'er The Past; What Is Recalled By Faded Flowers, Save That They Did Not Last? Were It Not Better To Forget, Than But Remember And Regret?

We Might Have Been - These Are But Common Words, And Yet They Make The Sum Of Life's Bewailing.

Habit Is A Second Nature, And What Was At First Pleasure, Is Next Necessity.