Joys Are Our Wings, Sorrows Our Spurs.

He Thought Of The Mouldering Child, Which Laid Its Withered Thin Arms Around His Soul, As If It Were His Own, And To Whom Death Had Given As Much As A God Gave To Endymion, — Sleep, Eternal Youth, And Immortality.

Every Man Has A Rainy Corner Of His Life Whence Comes Foul Weather Which Follows Him.

God Is An Unutterable Sigh, Planted In The Depths Of The Soul.

Joys Are Our Wings, Sorrows Our Spurs.

The Guardian Angels Of Life Sometimes Fly So High As To Be Beyond Our Sight, But They Are Always Looking Down Upon Us.