O may I join the choir invisible of those immortal dead who live again in minds made better by their presence; live in pulses stirred to generosity, in deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn for miserable aims that end with self, in thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, and with their mild persistence urge men's search to vaster issues.

Poetry and art and knowledge are sacred and pure.

Vague memories hang about the mind like cobwebs.

I would rather not be engaged. When people are engaged, they begin to think of being married soon, and I should like everything to go on for a long while just as it is.

I've always felt that your belongings have never been on a level with you.

A good solid bit of work lasts.

Better spend an extra hundred or two on your son's education, than leave it him in your will.