Death, Thou Art Infinite; It Is Life

The Long Days Are No Happier Than The Short Ones.

We Live In Deeds, Not Years; In Thoughts, Not Breaths; In Feelings, Not In Figures On A Dial.

Dewdrops, Nature's Tears, Which She Sheds In Her Own Breast For The Fair Which Die. The Sun Insists On Gladness; But At Night, When He Is Gone, Poor Nature Loves To Weep.

Life Is As Serious A Thing As Death.

Youth Might Be Wise; We Suffer Less From Pains Than Pleasures.