The mind of the scholar, if he would leave it large and liberal, should come in contact with other minds.

He had mittens, Minjekahwun, Magic mittens made of deer-skin; When upon his hands he wore them, He could smite the rocks asunder, He could grind them into powder.

It is foolish to pretend that one is fully recovered from a disappointed passion. Such wounds always leave a scar.

Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak.

Give what you have. To some one, it may be better than you dare to think.

The Helicon of too many poets is not a hill crowned with sunshine and visited by the Muses and the Graces, but an old, mouldering house, full of gloom and haunted by ghosts.

These stars of earth, these golden flowers.