Much of the possibility of being cheerful comes from the faculty of throwing oneself beyond oneself.

No man can be called friendless who has God and the companionship of good books.

For frequent tears have run; The colours from my life.

There Shakespeare, on whose forehead climb The crowns o' the world; oh, eyes sublime With tears and laughter for all time!

Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love. Yet love me--wilt thou? Open thine heart wide, And fold within, the wet wings of thy dove.

The man, most man, works best for men: and, if most man indeed, he gets his manhood plainest from his soul.

Of writing many books there is no end.