Books can only reveal us to ourselves, and as often as they do us this service we lay them aside.

Keep up the fires of thought, and all will go well.

The bluebird carries the sky on his back.

Nature refuses to sympathize with our sorrow. She seems not to have provided for, but by a thousand contrivances against it.

It is never too late to give up our prejudices. No way of thinking or doing, however, ancient, can be trusted without proof. ... Old deeds for old people, and new deeds for new.

Surely one may as profitably be soaked in the juices of a swamp for one day as pick his way dry-shod over sand. Cold and damp ? are they not as rich experience as warmth and dryness?

How novel and original must be each new mans view of the universe - for though the world is so old - and so many books have been written - each object appears wholly undescribed to our experience - each field of thought wholly unexplored - the whole world is an America - a New World.