It is curious that the leaf should so love the light and the root so hate it.

The eternal sound of the sea on every side has a tendency to wear away the edge of human thought and perception.

There shall be an eternal summer in the grateful heart.

Look to the East, where up the lucid sky; the morning climbs! The day shall yet be fair.

When in these fresh mornings I go into my garden before anyone is awake, I go for the time being into perfect happiness. In this hour divinely fresh and still, the fair face of every flower salutes me with a silent joy. . . . All the cares, perplexities, and griefs of existence, all the burdens of life slip from my shoulders and leave me with the heart of a little child that asks nothing beyond the present moment of innocent bliss.

It is curious that the leaf should so love the light and the root so hate it.

O happy, happy morning! O dear, familiar place! / O warm, sweet tears of Heaven, fast falling on my face! / O well-remembered, rainy wind, blow all my care away, / That I may be a child again this blissful morn of May.