The rain and hail pattered against the glass; the chimneys quaked and rocked; the crazy casement rattled with the wind, as though an impatient hand inside were striving to burst it open. But no hand was there, and it opened no more.

The secret was such an old one now, had so grown into me and become a part of myself, that I could not tear it away.

Now, I return to this young fellow. And the communication I have got to make is, that he has great expectations.

One disagreeable result of whispering is that it seems to evoke an atmosphere of silence, haunted by the ghosts of sound - strange cracks and tickings, the rustling of garments that have no substance in them, and the tread of dreadful feet that would leave no mark on the sea-sand or the winter snow.

The last trumpet ever to be sounded shall blow even algebra to wreck.

A new heart for a New Year, always!

Do all the good you can and make as little fuss about it as possible.