Time, like a preacher in the days of the Puritans, turned the hour-glass on his high pulpit, the church belfry.

Stars of earth, these golden flowers; emblems of our own great resurrection; emblems of the bright and better land.

As to the pure mind all things are pure, so to the poetic mind all things are poetical.

The talent of success is nothing more than doing what you can do, well.

The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.

What is time? The shadow on the dial, the striking of the clock, the running of the sand, day and night, summer and winter, months, years, centuries-these are but arbitrary and outward signs, the measure of Time, not Time itself. Time is the Life of the Soul.

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