Those evening bells! those evening bells! How many a tale their music tells!
No place in England where everyone can go is considered respectable.
Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal.
All reformers are bachelors.
After all there is but one race - humanity.
Tis the last rose of summer. Left blooming alone.
The difficulty of life is in the choice.
A literary movement consists of five or six people who live in the same town and hate each other cordially.
But there's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream.
We live in our desires rather than in our achievements
Ireland is a fatal disease fatal to Englishmen and doubly fatal to Irishmen.
This world is all a fleeting show For man's illusion given The smiles of joy the tears of woe Deceitful shine deceitful flow - There's nothing true but Heaven.
The time I've lost in wooing In watching and pursuing The light that lies In woman's eyes Has been my heart's undoing.
The moment we pass out of our habits we lose all sense of permanency and routine.
So long as one does not despair so long as one doesn't look upon life bitterly things work out fairly well in the end.
The harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled.