Every green thing loves to die in bright colors. The vegetable cohorts march glowing out of the year in flaming dresses, as if to leave this earth were a triumph and not a sadness. It is never nature that is sad, but only we, that dare not look back on the past, and that have not its prophecy of the future in our bosoms.

Happiness is not the end of life: character is.

Flowers are the sweetest things God ever made and forgot to put a soul into.

That endless book, the newspaper, is our national glory.

But when we borrow trouble, and look forward into the future to see what storms are coming, and distress ourselves before they come as to how we shall avert them if they ever do come, we lose our proper trustfulness in God. When we torment ourselves with imaginary dangers, or trials, or reverses, we have already parted with that perfect love which casteth out fear.

If a man cannot be a Christian in the place where he is, he cannot be a Christian anywhere.

No matter who reigns, the merchant reigns.