It is for us to do those things which the Lord requires at our hands$$$ and leave the result with him.

This melancholy London$$$ I sometimes imagine that the souls of the lost are compelled to walk through its streets perpetually.

Oh$$$ who could have foretold <br>That the heart grows old?

A king is but a foolish labourer<br>Who wastes his blood to be another's dream.

Does the imagination dwell the most <br>Upon a woman won or a woman lost?

I think all happiness depends on the energy to assume the mask of some other life$$$ on a re-birth as something not one's self.

I kiss you and kiss you$$$ <br>With arms around my own$$$ <br>Ah$$$ how shall I miss you$$$ <br>When$$$ dear$$$ you have grown.

People who lean on logic and philosophy and rational exposition end by starving the best part of the mind.

We taste and feel and see the truth. We do not reason ourselves into it.

Hearts are not had as a gift but hearts are earned<br>By those who are not entirely beautiful.