The snow had begun in the gloaming, and busily all the night had been heaping field and highway with a silence deep and white.

All the beautiful sentiments in the world weigh less than a single lovely action.

The riches of scholarship, the benignities of literature, defy fortune and outlive calamity. They are beyond the reach of thief or moth or rust. As they cannot be inherited, so they cannot, be alienated.

Compromise makes a good umbrella, but a poor roof.

Fastidiousness is only another word for egotism; and all men who know not where to look for truth save in the narrow well of self will find their own image at the bottom, and mistake it for what they are seeking.

We cannot but think there is something like a fallacy in Mr. Buckle's theory that the advance of mankind is necessarily in the direction of science, and not in that of morals.

Fortune is the rod of the weak, and the staff of the brave.