There is no hope the future will but turn the old sand in the falling glass of time. — Richard Henry Stoddard
There is no death. The thing that we call death Is but another, sadder name for life. — Richard Henry Stoddard
We love in others what we lack ourselves, and would be everything but what we are. — Richard Henry Stoddard
A face at the window, a tap on the pane, who is it that wants me tonight in the rain? — Richard Henry Stoddard
We love in others what we lack in ourselves, and would be everything, but what we are. — Richard Henry Stoddard