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!

And when she was good she was very very good. But when she was bad she was horrid.

Time has a doomsday book, upon whose pages he is continually recording illustrious names. But as often as a new name is written there, an old one disappears. Only a few stand in illuminated characters never to be effaced.

Sail on ship of state, sail on, I union, strong and great! Humanity with all its fears, with all its hopes of future years, is hanging on thy fate!

Let us be merciful as well as just.

It is foolish to pretend that one is fully recovered from a disappointed passion. Such wounds always leave a scar.

There is nothing holier in this life of ours than the first consciousness of love, the first fluttering of its silken wings.