Youth, with swift feet, walks onward in the way; the land of joy lies all before his eyes.

In how large a proportion of creatures is existence composed of one ruling passion, the most agonizing of all sensations--fear.

Faith builds in the dungeon and lazarhouse its sublimest shrines; and up, through roofs of stone, that shut out the eye of heaven, ascends the ladder where the angels glide to and fro,--prayer.

Love is on the verge of hate each time it stoops for pardon.

The world thinks eccentricity in great things is genius, but in small things, only crazy.

Never, be argued out of your soul, never be argued out of your honor, and never be argued into believing that soul and honor do not run a terrible risk if you limp into life with the load of a debt on your shoulders.

Love like Death,, Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook Beside the scepter