In the elder days of art Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part, For the Gods are everywhere

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

The morning pouring everywhere, its golden glory on the air.

A life that is worth writing at all is worth writing minutely.

How beautiful is youth! how bright it gleams with its illusions, aspirations, dreams! Book of Beginnings, Story without End, Each maid a heroine, and each man a friend!

O little feet! that such long years Must wander on through hopes and fears, Must ache and bleed beneath your load; I, nearer to the wayside inn Where toil shall cease and rest begin, Am weary, thinking of your road!

Joy, temperance, and repose, slam the door on the doctor's nose.