That is the bitterest of all,--to wear the yoke of our own wrong-doing.

It is impossible, to me at least, to be poetical in cold weather.

But what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope.

Her heart went out to him with a stronger movement than ever, at the thought that people would blame him. Maggie hated blame; she had been blamed her whole life, and nothing had come of it but evil tempers.

He was at a starting point which makes many a man's career a fine subject for betting, if there were any gentlemen given to that amusement who could appreciate the complicated probabilities of an arduous purpose. . . .

I'm not denyin' the women are foolish. God Almighty made 'em to match the men.

There is so much to read and the days are so short! I get more hungry for knowledge every day, and less able to satisfy my hunger.