Our taste is too delicate and particular. It says nay to the poet's work, but never yea to his hope.

Once I went so far as to slaughter a woodchuck which ravaged my bean-field,--effect his transmigration, as a Tartar would say,--and devour him, partly for experiment's sake; but though it afforded me a momentary enjoyment, notwithstanding a musky flavor, I saw that the longest use would not make that a good practice, however it might seem to have your woodchucks ready dressed by the village butcher.

Love your life, poor as it is. You may perhaps have some pleasant, thrilling, glorious hours, even in a poor-house.

Where the most beautiful wild flowers grow, there mans spirit is fed and poets grow.

Our molting season, like that of the fouls, must be a crisis in our lives.

There is more of good nature than of good sense at the bottom of most marriages.

Goodness is the only investment that never fails.