All Our Tastes Are But Reminiscences.

Let Us Enjoy The Fugitive Hour. Man Has No Harbor, Time Has No Shore; It Rushes On, And Carries Us With It.

Too Much I've Seen, And Felt, And Lov'd In Life, Living I Come To Seek Lethaean Calm; Let Me, Fair Scenes! Forget All Worldly Strife, Oblivion Solely Is My Bosom's Balm.

Private Passions Grow Tired And Wear Themselves Out; Political Passions, Never.

Music Is The Literature Of The Heart; It Commences Where Speech Ends.

Thou Makest The Man, O Sorrow!--yes, The Whole Man,--as The Crucible Gold.