Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.

Glorious indeed is the world of God around us, but more glorious the world of God within us.

Autumn arrives like a warrior with the stain of blood upon his brazen mail. His crimson scarf is rent. His scarlet banner drips with gore. His step is like a flail upon the threshing floor.

The mind of the scholar, if he would leave it large and liberal, should come in contact with other minds.

The setting of a great hope is like the setting of the sun. The brightness of our life is gone.

Every man has a paradise around him till he sins, and the angel of an accusing conscience drives him from his Eden.

The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.