I take a dose of mathematics every day to prevent my brain from becoming quite soft.

Duty has a trick of behaving unexpectedly -- something like a heavy friend whom we have amiably asked to visit us, and who breaks his leg within our gates.

The perpetual mourner -- the grief that can never be healed -- is innocently enough felt to be wearisome by the rest of the world. And my sense of desolation increases. Each day seems a new beginning -- a new acquaintance with grief.

How unspeakably the lengthening of memories in common endears our old friends!

The dew-bead Gem of earth and sky begotten.

Perhaps his might be one of the natures where a wise estimate of consequences is fused in the fires of that passionate belief which determines the consequences it believes in.

Perhaps the most delightful friendships are those in which there is much agreement, much disputation, and yet more personal liking.