The heart, like the mind, has a memory. And in it are kept the most precious keepsakes.

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

Authors must not, like Chinese soldiers, expect to win victories by turning somersets in the air.

O beautiful, awful summer day, what hast thou given, what taken away?

If we could read the secret history of our enemies we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.

A Lady with a Lamp shall stand In the great history of the land, A noble type of good, Heroic womanhood.

Not chance of birth or place has made us friends, Being oftentimes of different tongues and nations, But the endeavor for the selfsame ends, With the same hopes, and fears, and aspirations.