Weep, for the light is dead.
Will it, and set to work briskly.
Rarely do we arrive at the summit of truth without running into extremes; we have frequently to exhaust the part of error, and even of folly, before we work our way up to the noble goal of tranquil wisdom.
We, we live! ours are the hours, and the living have their claims.
We are too prone to find fault; let us look for some of the perfections.
Grace is the beauty of form under the influence of freedom.