Love gives itself; it is not bought.

Whenever nature leaves a hole in a person's mind, she generally plasters it over with a thick coat of self-conceit.

Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll.

What child has a heart to sing in this capricious clime of ours, when spring comes sailing in from the sea, with wet and heavy cloud-sails and the misty pennon of the east-wind nailed to the mast.

Resolve and thou art free.

There's nothing fair nor beautiful, but takes Something from thee, that makes it beautiful.

As turning the logs will make a dull fire burn, so change of studies a dull brain.