Romanticism Is Beauty Without Bounds-the Beautiful Infinite.

The Romance Of Life Begins And Ends With Two Blank Pages. Age And Extreme Old Age.

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.

It Is Simpler And Easier To Flatter People Than To Praise Them.

Joy Descends Gently Upon Us Like The Evening Dew, And Does Not Patter Down Like A Hailstorm.

There Is A Joy In Sorrow Which None But A Mourner Can Know.