I am in love with this green Earth.

Not childhood alone, but the young man till thirty, never feels practically that he is mortal.

I hate a man who swallows [his food], affecting not to know what he is eating. I suspect his taste in higher matters.

And when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen, The maiden herself will steal after it soon.

For thy sake, tobacco, I would do anything but die.

A Persian's heaven is eas'ly made: 'T is but black eyes and lemonade.

How convalescence shrinks a man back to his pristine stature! where is now the space, which he occupied so lately, in his own, in the family's eye?