Every winter, When the great sun has turned his face away, The earth goes down into a vale of grief, And fasts, and weeps, and shrouds herself in sables, Leaving her wedding-garlands to decay- Then leaps in spring to his returning kisses.
Pain is no evil, unless it conquers us.
There are more ways of killing a cat than choking it with cream.
Every duty which is bidden to wait returns with seven fresh duties at its back.
Young blood must have its course, lad, and every dog its day.
Being forced to work, and forced to do your best, will breed in you temperance and self-control, diligence and strength of will, cheerfulness and content, and a hundred virtues which the idle will never know.