Love makes its record in deeper colors as we grow out of childhood into manhood.

They are dead; but they live in each Patriot's breast, And their names are engraven on honor's bright crest.

Were half the power that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals or forts.

Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak.

In the life of every man there are sudden transitions of feeling, which seem almost miraculous. At once, as if some magician had touched the heavens and the earth, the dark clouds melt into the air, the wind falls, and serenity succeeds the storm. The causes which produce these changes may have been long at work within us, but the changes themselves are instantaneous, and apparently without sufficient cause.

It is a beautiful trait in the lover's character, that they think no evil of the object loved.

A boy's will is the wind's will, and the thought's of youth are long, long thoughhts