God's rarest blessing is, after all, a good woman!
The man of science is nothing if not a poet gone wrong.
The well of true wit is truth itself.
Lowly, with a broken neck, The crocus lays her cheek to mire.
Earth knows no desolation. She smells regeneration in the moist breath of decay.
Prayer for worldly goods is worse than fruitless, but prayer for strength of soul is that passion of the soul which catches the gift it seeks.