Our souls are like those orphans whose unwedded mothers die in bearing them: the secret of our paternity lies in their grave, and we must there to learn it.

We die, because we live.

See how elastic our prejudices grow when once love comes to bend them.

The sweetest joys of life grow in the very jaws of its perils.

There is a woe that is wisdom, a woe that is madness.

At last the anchor was up, the sails were set, and off we glided. It was a sharp, cold Christmas; and as the short northern day merged into night, we found ourselves almost broad upon the wintry ocean, whose freezing spray cased us in ice, as in polished armor.

A thing may be incredible and still be true; sometimes it is incredible because it is true.