The counterfeit and counterpart of Nature is reproduced in art.

These stars of earth, these golden flowers.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall

There is nothing perfectly secure but poverty.

Resolve and thou art free.

The greatest grace of a gift, perhaps, is that it anticipates and admits of no return.

Where'er a noble deed is wrought, Where'er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts in glad surprise To higher levels rise.