A thought often makes us hotter than a fire.

The day is done; and slowly from the scene the stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, and puts them back into his golden quiver!

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

Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we may ascend.

It is folly to pretend that one ever wholly recovers from a disappointed passion. Such wounds always leave a scar. There are faces I can never look upon without emotion, there are names I can never hear spoken without almost starting.

Life hath quicksands, Life hath snares!

O thou sculptor, painter, poet! Take this lesson to thy heart: That is best which lieth nearest; Shape from that thy work of art.