A journal, is a book that shall contain a record of all your joy, your ecstasy, what you are grateful for.

The perch swallows the grub-worm, the pickerel swallows the perch, and the fisherman swallows the pickerel; and so all the chinks in the scale of being are filled.

The meeting of two eternities, the past and future....is precisely the present moment.

Even trees do not die without a groan.

What the banker sighs for, the meanest clown may have-leisure and a quiet mind.

To forget all about your mistakes adds to them perhaps.

To one who habitually endeavors to contemplate the true state of things, the political state can hardly be said to have any existence whatever. It is unreal, incredible, and insignificant to him, and for him to endeavor to extract the truth from such lean material is like making sugar from linen rags, when sugar-cane may be had.