Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the latchets of his sandal shoon.

And as she looked around, she saw how Death the consoler, Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever.

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

Love makes its record in deeper colors as we grow out of childhood into manhood; as the Emperors signed their names in green ink when under age, but when of age, in purple.

There are favorable hours for reading a book, as for writing it.

To be infatuated with the power of one's own intellect is an accident which seldom happens but to those who are remarkable for the want of intellectual power. Whenever Nature leaves a hole in a person's mind, she generally plasters it over with a thick coat of self-conceit.

As turning the logs will make a dull fire burn, so change of studies a dull brain.