Westward, beyond the still pleasant, but, even then, no longer solitary, hamlet of Charing, a broad space, broken here and there by scattered houses and venerable pollards, in the early spring of 1467, presented the rural scene for the sports and pastimes of the inhabitants of Westminister and London.

He who has loved often ... has loved never.

Self-confidence is not hope; it is the self-judgment of your own internal forces in their relation to the world without, which results from the failure of many hopes and the non-realization of many fears.

Invention is nothing more than a fine deviation from, or enlargement on a fine model . . .

Books are but waste paper unless we spend in action the wisdom we get from thought.

The heart of a girl is like a convent--the holier the cloister, the more charitable the door.

In belief lies the secret of all valuable exertion.