An enlightened mind is not hoodwinked; it is not shut up in a gloomy prison till it thinks the walls of its dungeon the limits of the universe, and the reach of its own chain the outer verge of intelligence.

Ah, Nothing is too late, till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate.

Great is the art of beginning, but greater is the art of ending.

The course of my long life hath reached at last in fragile bark over a tempestuous sea the common harbor, where must rendered be account for all the actions of the past.

Sunday is the golden clasp that binds together the volume of the week.

I love thee, as the good love heaven.

Today is the blocks with which we build.