O sweet, delusive Noon, Which the morning climbs to find, O moment sped too soon, And morning left behind.

If I could write a story that would do for the Indian one-hundredth part what 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' did for the Negro, I would be thankful the rest of my life.

Next time!' In what calendar are kept the records of those next times which never come?

When Time is spent, Eternity begins.

The woman who creates and sustains a home, and under whose hands children grow up to be strong and pure men and women, is a creator second only to God.

Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame; Each to his passion; what's in a name?

Who longest waits most surely wins.