And so we plough along, as the fly said to the ox.

A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.

Simplicity is the character of the spring of life, costliness becomes its autumn; but a neatness and purity, like that of the snow-drop or lily of the valley, is the peculiar fascination of beauty, to which it lends enchantment, and gives what amiability is to the mind.

There's nothing in this world so sweet as love. And next to love the sweetest thing is hate.

What child has a heart to sing in this capricious clime of ours, when spring comes sailing in from the sea, with wet and heavy cloud-sails and the misty pennon of the east-wind nailed to the mast.

Love makes its record in deeper colors as we grow out of childhood into manhood.

Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.