Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe.

Oh, what a glory doth this world put on, for him who with a fervent heart goes forth under the bright and glorious sky, and looks on duties well performed, and days well spent.

Being all fashioned of the self-same dust, let us be merciful as well as just

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

There are favorable hours for reading a book, as for writing it.

And when she was good she was very very good. But when she was bad she was horrid.

The love of learning, the sequestered nooks, And all the sweet serenity of books.