Love makes its record in deeper colors as we grow out of childhood into manhood.
It was Autumn, and incessant Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves, And, like living coals, the apples Burned among the withering leaves.
Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice triumphs.
Enthusiasm begets enthusiasm.
Ah, Nothing is too late, till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate.
Like a French poem is life; being only perfect in structure when with the masculine rhymes mingled the feminine are.