Every Man Has A Rainy Corner Of

Every Man Regards His Own Life As The New Year's Eve Of Time.

The Darkness Of Death Is Like The Evening Twilight; It Makes All Objects Appear More Lovely To The Dying.

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.

What Makes Old Age So Sad Is, Not That Our Joys, But That Our Hopes Then Cease.

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