The student has his Rome, his Florence, his whole glowing Italy, within the four walls of his library. He has in his books the ruins of an antique world and the glories of a modern one.

The story, from beginning to end, I found again in a heart of a friend.

No literature is complete until the language it was written in is dead.

Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time.

Look not mournfully into the past, it comes not back again. Wisely improve the present, it is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy future without fear and with a manly heart.

As the heart is, so is love to the heart. It partakes of its strength or weakness, its health or disease.

Let us labor for an inward stillness-- An inward stillness and an inward healing. That perfect silence where the lips and heart Are still, and we no longer entertain Our own imperfect thoughts and vain opinions, But God alone speaks to us and we wait In singleness of heart that we may know His will, and in the silence of our spirits, That we may do His will and do that only