Why art thou silent! Is thy love a plant / Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air / Of absence withers what was once so fair?

All things that love the sun are out of doors.

This flower that first appeared as summer's guest Preserves her beauty 'mid autumnal leaves And to her mournful habits fondly cleaves.

The best portion of a good man's life is his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love

We live by admiration, hope and love

We live by admiration, hope and love; and even as these are well and wisely fixed, in dignity of being we ascend