Man is the artificer of his own happiness.
Exaggerated history is poetry, and truth referred to a new standard.
The cost of a thing is something called life which is given in exchange for it.
Can there be any greater reproach than an idle learning? Learn to split wood, at least.
"Hear! hear!" screamed the jay from a neighboring tree, where I had heard a tittering for some time, "winter has a concentrated and nutty kernel, if you know where to look for it."
When I go out of the house for a walk, uncertain as yet whither I will bend my steps, [I] submit myself to my instinct to decide for me.