And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives.

Nature paints not; In oils, but frescoes the great dome of heaven; With sunsets, and the lovely forms of clouds; And flying vapors.

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.

Resolve and thou art free.

Very hot and still the air was, Very smooth the gliding river, Motionless the sleeping shadows.

Dreams or illusions, call them what you will, they lift us from the commonplace of life to better things.

A life that is worth writing at all is worth writing minutely.