Every dew-drop and rain-drop had a whole heaven within it.

Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.

Whenever nature leaves a hole in a person's mind, she generally plasters it over with a thick coat of self-conceit.

Enthusiasm begets enthusiasm.

A spirit of criticism, if indulged in, leads to a censoriousness of disposition that is destructive of all nobler feeling. The man who lives to find faults has a miserable mission.

I have an affection for a great city. I feel safe in the neighborhood of man, and enjoy the sweet security of the streets.

From labor there shall come forth rest.