Art is long, and Time is fleeting.

Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.

O suffering, sad humanity! O ye afflicted ones, who lie Steeped to the lips in misery, Longing, yet afraid to die, Patient, though sorely tried!

Many readers judge of the power of a book by the shock it gives their feelings - as some savage tribes determine the power of muskets by their recoil; that being considered best which fairly prostrates the purchaser.

I have an affection for a great city. I feel safe in the neighborhood of man, and enjoy the sweet security of the streets.

Often times we call a man [or woman] cold when he [or she] is only sad.

In December ring Every day the chimes; Loud the gleemen sing In the streets their merry rhymes. Let us by the fire Ever higher Sing them till the night expire!