Often On Earth The Gentlest Heart Is

When The Poet Died His Cat Was Put To Death And Mummified.

It May Be Only Glory That We Seek Here, But I Persuade Myself That, As Long As We Remain Here, That Is Right. Another Glory Awaits Us In Heaven And He Who Reaches There Will Not Wish Even To Think Of Earthly Fame.

Hitherto Your Eyes Have Been Darkened And You Have Looked Too Much, Yes, Far Too Much, Upon The Things Of Earth. If These So Much Delight You What Shall Be Your Rapture When You Lift Your Gaze To Things Eternal!

A Good Death Does Honour To A Whole Life.

There Is No Lighter Burden, Nor More Agreeable, Than A Pen.