In the morn of life we are alert, we are heated in its noon, and only in its decline do we repose.
There is no easy path leading out of life, and few are the easy ones that lie within it.
Everything that looks to the future elevates human nature; for never is life so low or so little as when occupied with the present.
Many love music but for music's sake, Many because her touches can awake Thoughts that repose within the breast half-dead, And rise to follow where she loves to lead. What various feelings come from days gone by! What tears from far-off sources dim the eye! Few, when light fingers with sweet voices play, And melodies swell, pause, and melt away, Mind how at every touch, at every tone, A spark of life hath glistened and hath gone.
Life is but sighs; and, when they cease, 'tis over.
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