I have heard of a minister, who had been a fisherman, being settled in Bridgewater for as long a time as he could tell a cod froma haddock. Generous as it seems, this condition would empty most country pulpits forthwith, for it is long since the fishers of men were fishermen.

There can be no very black melancholy to him who lives in the midst of Nature and has his senses still.

Nature is doing her best each moment to make us well. Why, nature is but another name for health.

The chief want, in every state that I have been into, was a high and earnest purpose in its inhabitants.

We do not enjoy poetry unless we know it to be poetry.

Who knows what beautiful and winged life, whose egg has been buried for ages under many concretic layers of woodenness in the dead dry life of society...may unexpectedly come forth...to enjoy its perfect summer life at last!...Such is the character of that morrow which mere lapse of time can never make to dawn...Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star.

There are times when we have had enough even of our Friends.