The Sea Complains Upon A

A Thought May Be Very Commendable As A Thought, But I Value It Chiefly As A Window Through Which I Can Obtain Insight On The Thinker.

We Bury Love; Forgetfulness Grows Over It Like Grass: That Is A Thing To Weep For, Not The Dead.

Fame Is But An Inscription On A Grave, And Glory The Melancholy Blazon On A Coffin Lid.

Death, Which We Are Accustomed To Consider An Evil, Really Acts For Us The Friendliest Part, And Takes Away The Commonplace Of Existence.

Books Are A Finer World Within The World. (1863)