Man is the nobler growth our realms supply, And souls are ripened in our northern sky.

The first pale blossom of the unripened year.

Time deals gently with me; and though I feel that I descend, the slope is easy.

We can only love what we know.

Child of mortality, whence comest thou? Why is thy countenance sad, and why are thine eyes red with weeping?

You speak of beginning the education of your son. The moment he was able to form an idea his education was already begun. . . .

We may think all religions beneficial, and believe of one alone that it is true.