Nature paints not; In oils, but frescoes the great dome of heaven; With sunsets, and the lovely forms of clouds; And flying vapors.
Every man has his secret sorrows.
A thought often makes us hotter than a fire.
He looks the whole world in the face for he owes not any man.
Love makes its record in deeper colors as we grow out of childhood into manhood.
Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted; If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment; That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.