That Which Moveth The Heart Most Is

In The Hours Of Distress And Misery, The Eyes Of Every Mortal Turn To Friendship; In The Hours Of Gladness And Conviviality, What Is Our Want? It Is Friendship. When The Heart Overflows With Gratitude, Or With Any Other Sweet Or Sacred Sentiment, What Is The Word To Which It Would Give Utterance? A Friend.

The Eyes Of Critics, Whether In Commending Or Carping, Are Both On One Side, Like A Turbot's.

It Is Delightful To Kiss The Eyelashes Of The Beloved--is It Not? But Never So Delightful As When Fresh Tears Are On Them.

Death Stands Above Me, Whispering Low I Know Not What Into My Ear; Of His Strange Language All I Know Is, There Is Not A Word Of Fear.

Solitude Is The Audience-chamber Of God.