The early months of marriage often are times of critical tumult,--whether that of a shrimp pool or of deeper water,--which afterwards subside into cheerful peace.

We learn words by rote, but not their meaning; that must be paid for with our life-blood, and printed in the subtle fibres of our nerves.

Our selfishness is so robust and many-clutching that, well encouraged, it easily devours all sustenance away from our poor little scruples.

Death is the only physician, the shadow of his valley the only journeying that will cure us of age and the gathering fatigue of years.

I think I should have no other mortal wants, if I could always have plenty of music.

There's folks as make bad butter and trusten to the salt t' hide it.

I carry my unwritten poems in cipher on my face!