A single conversation across the table with a wise man is better than ten years mere study of books.

Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.

The atmosphere breathes rest and comfort, and the many chambers seem full of welcomes.

Something the heart must have to cherish, Must love and joy and sorrow learn; Something with passion clasp, or perish And in itself to ashes burn.

Nothing with God can be accidental.

Sit in reverie and watch the changing color of the waves that break upon the idle seashore of the mind.

Each morning sees some task begun, each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, has earned a night's repose.