The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight.

If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it.

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

I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

The Mormons make the marriage ring, like the ring of Saturn, fluid, not solid, and keep it in its place by numerous satellites.

The rapture of pursuing is the prize the vanquished gain.

Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead.