You have come into a hard world. I know of only one easy place in it, and that is the grave.

God makes the life fertile by disappointments, as he makes the ground fertile by frosts.

Memory can glean, but can never renew. It brings us joys faint as is the perfume of the flowers, faded and dried, of the summer that is gone.

Public sentiment is to public officers what water is to the wheel of the mill.

Love cannot endure indifference. It needs to be wanted. Like a lamp, it needs to be fed out of the oil of another's heart, or its flame burns low.

A library is but the soul's burying ground. It is a land of shadows.

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