An author departs; he does not die.

One cannot make oneself, but one can sometimes help a little in the making of somebody else. It is well.

How the sting of poverty, or small means, is gone when one keeps house for one's own comfort and not for the comfort of one's neighbors.

An author departs; he does not die.

O blest one hour like this! to rise And see grief's shadows backward roll; While bursts on unaccustomed eyes The glad Aurora of the soul.

the worst times come to an end if you can only wait long enough.

Happiness is not an end - it is only a means, and adjunct, a consequence.