Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?

Life is but a day;A fragile dew-drop on its perilous wayFrom a tree’s summit.

If I am destined to be happy with you here—how short is the longest Life—I wish to believe in immortality—I wish to live with you for ever.

Nothing ever becomes real till experienced – even a proverb is no proverb until your life has illustrated it

Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by?---"On death

How long is this posthumous life of mine to last?

Stop and consider! life is but a day;A fragile dewdrop on its perilous wayFrom a tree's summit; a poor Indian's sleepWhile his boat hastens to the monstrous steepOf Montmorenci. Why so sad a moan?Life is the rose's hope while yet unblown;The reading of an ever-changing tale;The light uplifting of a maiden's veil;A pigeon tumbling in clear summer air;A laughing schoolboy, without grief or care,Riding the springy branches of an elm.

A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness.

The imagination of a boy is healthy, and the mature imagination of a man is healthy; but there is a space of life between, in which the soul is in a ferment, the character undecided, the way of life uncertain, the ambition thick-sighted: thence proceeds mawkishness.