There are like to be short graces where the devil plays host.

No one ever regarded the first of January with indifference.

Who first invented work, and bound the free And holiday-rejoicing spirit down . . . . To that dry drudgery at the desk's dead wood? . . . . Sabbathless Satan!

Thus, when the lamp that lighted The traveller at first goes out, He feels awhile benighted, And looks around in fear and doubt. But soon, the prospect clearing, By cloudless starlight on he treads, And thinks no lamp so cheering As that light which Heaven sheds.

I hate the man who eats without knowing what he’s eating. I doubt his taste in more important things.

It is good to love the unknown.

Since all the maids are good and lovable, from whence come the bad wives?