The moon is hidden behind a cloud... On the leaves is a sound of falling rain... No other sounds than these I hear; The hour of midnight must be near... So many ghosts, and forms of fright, Have started from their graves to-night, They have driven sleep from mine eyes away: I will go down to the chapel and pray.

Let us, then, be what we are; speak what we think; and in all things keep ourselves loyal to truth.

How like they are to human things!

The story, from beginning to end, I found again in a heart of a friend.

A boy's will is the wind's will, and the thought's of youth are long, long thoughhts

If we could read the secret history of our enemies we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.

Nature is a revelation of God; Art a revelation of man.