All Of Heaven We Have Below.

The Consciousness Of Being Loved Softens The Keenest Pang Even At The Moment Of Parting; Yea, Even The Eternal Farewell Is Robbed Of Half Of Its Bitterness When Uttered In Accents That Breathe Love To The Last Sigh.

My Death And Life, My Bane And Antidote, Are Both Before Me.

Thus I Live In The World Rather As A Spectator Of Mankind, Than As One Of The Species, By Which Means I Have Made Myself A Speculative Statesman, Soldier, Merchant, And Artisan, Without Ever Meddling With Any Practical Part Of Life.

The Hours Of A Wise Man Are Lengthened By His Ideas, As Those Of A Fool Are By His Passions. The Time Of The One Is Long, Because He Does Not Know What To Do With It; So Is That Of The Other, Because He Distinguishes Every Moment Of It With Useful Or Amusing Thoughts--or, In Other Words, Because The One Is Always Wishing It Away, And The Other Always Enjoying It.

Nothing Is Capable Of Being Well Set To Music That Is Not Nonsense.