Who waits until the wind shall silent keep Will never find the ready hour to sow.

Nothing can be so bad as to be displeased with one's self.

I shall be found with 'Indians' engraved on my brain when I am dead. A fire has been kindled within me, which will never go out.

Who longest waits most surely wins.

The goldenrod is yellow, The corn is turning brown, The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down.

That indescribable expression peculiar to people who hope they have not been asleep, but know they have.

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