No thoroughly occupied man was ever yet very miserable.
Were it not better to forget Than to remember and regret?
"Love is a pearl of purest hue, But stormy waves are round it; And dearly may a woman rue, The hour that she found it."
How disappointment tracks the steps of hope.
Ah tell me not that memory Sheds gladness o'er the past; What is recalled by faded flowers Save that they did not last?