One half the world must sweat and groan that the other half may dream.

O little feet! that such long years Must wander on through hopes and fears, Must ache and bleed beneath your load; I, nearer to the wayside inn Where toil shall cease and rest begin, Am weary, thinking of your road!

Love gives itself; it is not bought.

The secret studies of an author are the sunken piers upon which is to rest the bridge of his fame, spanning the dark waters of oblivion. They are out of sight, but without them no superstructure can stand secure.

Simplicity in character, in manners, in style; in all things the supreme excellence is simplicity.

A boy's will is the wind's will, and the thought's of youth are long, long thoughhts

Something the heart must have to cherish, Must love and joy and sorrow learn; Something with passion clasp, or perish And in itself to ashes burn.