Romanticism Is Beauty Without Bounds-the Beautiful Infinite.

We Learn Our Virtues From Our Friends Who Love Us; Our Faults From The Enemy Who Hates Us. We Cannot Easily Discover Our Real Character From A Friend. He Is A Mirror, On Which The Warmth Of Our Breath Impedes The Clearness Of The Reflection.

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.

Music Is Moonlight In The Gloomy Night Of Life.

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

Sleep, Riches, And Health, To Be Truly Enjoyed, Must Be Interrupted.