Old man! 'Tis not difficult to die. - Lord Byron

Oh Love! no habitant of earth thou art — An unseen seraph, we believe in thee,
A faith whose martyrs are the broken heart,
But never yet hath seen, nor e’er shall see
The naked eye, thy form, as it should be;
The mind hath made thee, as it peopled heaven,
Even with its own desiring phantasy,
And to a thought such shape and image given,
As haunts the unquench’d soul — parch’d — wearied — wrung — and riven.

Knowledge is not happiness, and science But an exchange of ignorance for that Which is another kind of ignorance.

Yet in my lineaments they trace
Some features of my father's face.