Great souls suffer in silence.

The dictates of the heart are the voice of fate.

If the art of gardening is at last to turn back from her extravagances and rest with her other sisters, it is, above everything, necessary to have clearly before you what you require . . . It is certainly tasteless and inconsistent to desire to encompass the world with a garden-wall, but very practicable and reasonable to make a garden . . . into a characteristic whole to the eye, heart, and nderstanding alike.

To rankling poison hast thou turned in me the milk of human kindness.

Have Hope. Though clouds environs now, And gladness hides her face in scorn, Put thou the shadow from thy brow, - No night but hath its morn.

All things must; man is the only creature that wills.

You saw his weakness, and he will never forgive you.