There is sorrow in the world, but goodness too; and goodness that is not greenness, either, no more than sorrow is.

The man that has anything bountifully laughable about him, be sure there is more in that man than you perhaps think for.

The grand points in human nature are the same to-day they were a thousand years ago. The only variability in them is in expression, not in feature.

You must have plenty of sea-room to tell the truth in.

The Past is dead, and has no resurrection; but the Future is endowed with such a life, that it lives to us even in anticipation. The Past is, in many things, the foe of mankind; the Future is, in all things, our friend. In the Past is no hope; The Future is both hope and fruition. The Past is the text-book of tyrants; the Future is the Bible of the Free. Those who are solely governed by the Past stand like Lot's wife, crystallized in the act of looking backward, and forever incapable of looking before.

The stillness of the calm is awful. His voice begins to grow strange and portentous. He feels it in him like something swallowed too big for the esophagus. It keeps up a sort of involuntary interior humming in him, like a live beetle. His cranium is a dome full of reverberations. The hollows of his very bones are as whispering galleries. He is afraid to speak loud, lest he be stunned; like the man in the bass drum.

There is sorrow in the world, but goodness too; and goodness that is not greenness, either, no more than sorrow is.