The first pressure of sorrow crushes out from our hearts the best wine; afterwards the constant weight of it brings forth bitterness, the taste and stain from the lees of the vat.

Difficulty on the way to victory is opportunity for God to work

The hooded clouds, like friars, Tell their beads in drops of rain.

The shadows of the mind are like those of the body. In the morning of life they all lie behind us; at noon we trample them under foot; and in the evening they stretch long, broad, and deepening before us.

The holiest of holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart.

O beautiful, awful summer day, what hast thou given, what taken away?

The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark