There are moments of life that we never forget, which brighten and brighten as time steals away.

Green sods are all their monument; and yet it tells A nobler history than pillared piles, Or the eternal pyramids.

Roses bloom, and then they wither; Cheeks are bright, then fade and die; Shapes of light are wafted hither, Then, like visions, hurry by.

The world is full of poetry. The air is living with its spirit; and the waves dance to the music of its melodies, and sparkle in its brightness.

Thought can wing its way Swifter than lightning-flashes or the beam That hastens on the pinions of the morn.

The thundering voice that wrings, in one dark, damning moment, crimes of years!

I am one who finds within me a nobility that spurns the idle pratings of the great, and their mean boasts of what their fathers were, while they themselves are fools effeminate.

There is nothing but death Our affections can sever, And till life's latest breath Love shall bind us for ever.

In Eastern lands they talk in flowers, And they tell in a garland their loves and cares; Each blossom that blooms in their garden bowers, On its leaves a mystic language bears.

The recollection of one upward hour Hath more in it to tranquilize and cheer The darkness of despondency, than years Of gayety and pleasure.

Sweet flower, thou tellest how hearts as pure and tender as thy leaf, as low and humble as thy stem, will surely know the joy that peace imparts.

Science, I am told, is making great strides, experimenting, groping after things which no sane man has ever dreamed of before – without being burned alive for it.

A true servant of God is someone who helps another succeed.

Death, which we are accustomed to consider an evil, really acts for us the friendliest part, and takes away the commonplace of existence.

I definitely want to start a family, but that will happen when it's supposed to.

Practice. I used to sit on the edge of my bed with a six-pack of Tuborg. My brother would go out to party and get laid, come home at 3am., and I would still be playing with myself.

A well-bred youth neither speakes of himselfe, nor being spoken to is silent.

And old affront will stir the heart Through years of rankling pain.

You’re my best friend, Shmuel,’ he said. ‘My best friend for life.

In hindsight it may even seem inevitable that a socialist society will starve when it runs out of capitalists.

Who said it could not be done? And tell me what great victories does he have to his credit which qualifies him to judge what can and can't be accomplished.