In this world a man must either be anvil or hammer.

Our blossoms of passion, gay and luxuriant flowers, are bright and full of fragrance, but they beguile us and lead us astray, and their odor is deadly.

Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, our faith triumphant o’er our fears, are all with thee – are all with thee!

Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate, Who ne'er the mournful midnight hours Weeping upon his bed has sate, He knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers.

I love an author the more for having been himself a lover of books.

If you once understand an author's character, the comprehension of his writings becomes easy.

Ah! What would the world be to us If the children were no more? We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before.