Life like an empty dream flits by.

When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music.

Art is the child of nature in whom we trace the features of the mothers face.

He looks the whole world in the face for he owes not any man.

Some critics are like chimney-sweepers; they put out the fire below, and frighten the swallows from their nests above; they scrape a long time in the chimney, cover themselves with soot, and bring nothing away but a bag of cinders, and then sing from the top of the house as if they had built it.

It takes less time to do a thing right, than it does to explain why you did it wrong.

Nothing with God can be accidental.