The dew-bead Gem of earth and sky begotten.

Childhood has no forebodings; but then, it is soothed by no memories of outlived sorrow.

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.

There is much pain that is quite noiseless; and vibrations that make human agonies are often a mere whisper in the roar of hurrying existence. There are glances of hatred that stab and raise no cry of murder; robberies that leave man or woman for ever beggared of peace and joy, yet kept secret by the sufferer --committed to no sound except that of low moans in the night, seen in no writing except that made on the face by the slow months of suppressed anguish and early morning tears. Many an inherited sorrow that has marred a life has been breathed into no human ear.

The wit of a family is usually best received among strangers.

Things are achieved when they are well begun.

It's no use filling your pocket with money if you have got a hole in the corner.