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

It is true, that it is not at all necessary to love many books, in order to love them much.

Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead.

Sit in reverie and watch the changing color of the waves that break upon the idle seashore of the mind.

But the nearer the dawn the darker the night, And by going wrong all things come right. Things have been mended that were worse, and the the worse, the nearer they are to mend.

Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.

However things may seem, no evil thing is success and no good thing is failure.