You cannot fold a flood and put it in a drawer, because the winds would find it out and tell your cedar floor.

A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is, to meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore; A privilege I think.

Hope is a thing with feathers

Anger as soon as fed is dead- 'Tis starving makes it fat.

The Things that never can come back, are several - Childhood - some forms of Hope - the Dead.

I'll tell you how the sun rose, a ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran. The hills untied their bonnets, The bobolinks begun. Then I said softly to myself, "That must have been the sun!

I lost a world the other day. Has anybody found? You'll know it by the rows of stars around it's forehead bound. A rich man might not notice it; yet to my frugal eye of more esteem than ducats. Oh! Find it, sir, for me!