A simple woman down in Tyngsborough, at whose house I once stopped to get a draught of water, when I said, recognizing the bucket, that I had stopped there nine years before for the same purpose, asked if I was not a traveler, supposing that I had been traveling ever since, and had now come round again.

Who could believe in the prophecies ... that the world would end this summer, while one milkweed with faith matured its seeds.

As for Doing-good, that is one of the professions which are full.

I live in the present. I only remember the past, and anticipate the future.

No people ever lived by cursing their fathers, however great a curse their fathers might have been to them.

Can we not do without the society of our gossip a little while, - have our own thoughts to cheer us?

Ice is an interesting subject for contemplation. They told me that they had some in the ice-houses at Fresh Pond five years old which was as good as ever. Why is it that a bucket of water soon becomes putrid, but frozen remains sweet forever? It is commonly said that this is the difference between the affections and the intellect.