Life cannot go on without a great deal of forgetting.

First love is a kind of vaccination which saves a man from catching the complaint a second time.

Who is to decide which is the grimmer sight: withered hearts$$$ or empty skulls?

Passion is born deaf and dumb.

Those who say it can't be done are usually interrupted by others doing it.

All things must pass.

Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.

Now they were as strangers; nay worse than strangers$$$ for they could never become acquainted.

When pain is over$$$ the remembrance of it often becomes a pleasure.

Love is just a word$$$ but you bring it definition.