Falsehood Is Easy, Truth So Difficult.

It Is Very Difficult To Be Learned; It Seems As If People Were Worn Out On The Way To Great Thoughts, And Can Never Enjoy Them Because They Are Too Tired.

Love At Its Highest Flood Rushes Beyond Its Object, And Loses Itself In The Sense Of Divine Mystery.

In The Man Whose Childhood Has Known Caresses And Kindness, There Is Always A Fiber Of Memory That Can Be Touched To Gentle Issues.

In Travelling I Shape Myself Betimes To Idleness And Take Fools' Pleasure

Would Not Love See Returning Penitence Afar Off, And Fall On Its Neck And Kiss It?