How lovely the little river is, with its dark changing wavelets! It seems to me like a living companion while I wander along the bank, and listen to … - George Eliot

Upon my word, I think the truth is the hardest missile one can be pelted with.

I see a face of love, Fair as sweet music when my heart was strong: Yea — art thou come again to me, great Song?" The face bent over him like silver night In long-remembered summers; that calm light Of days which shine in firmaments of thought, That past unchangeable, from change still wrought.

This is life to come, — Which martyred men have made more glorious For us who strive to follow. May I reach That purest heaven, — be to other souls The cup of strength in some great agony, Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, Beget the smiles that have no cruelty, Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, And in diffusion ever more intense! So shall I join the choir invisible Whose music is the gladness of the world.