Ah, Tell Me Not That Memory Sheds

My Heart Is Its Own Grave!

He Who Seeks Pleasure With Reference To Himself, Not Others, Will Ever Find That Pleasure Is Only Another Name For Discontent.

There Is The Cause For Pleasure And For Pain: But Music Moves Us, And We Know Not Why? We Feel The Tears, But Cannot Trace Their Source. Is It The Language Of Some Other State, Born Of Its Memory! For What Can Wake The Soul's Strong Instinct Of Another World, Like Music！

Youth Is A Season That Has No Repose.

I Will Look On The Stars And Look On Thee, And Read The Page Of Thy Destiny.