Blessed are they who have nothing to say and who cannot be persuaded to say it.

Time is, after all, the greatest of poets; and the sons of Memory stand a better chance of being the heirs of Fame.

The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down, and still fluttered down the snow.

A great part of human suffering has its root in the nature of man, and not in that of his institutions.

If God made poets for anything, it was to keep alive the traditions of the pure, the holy, and the beautiful.

Children are God's Apostles, sent forth, day by day, to preach of love, and hope, and peace.

The very gnarliest and hardest of hearts has some musical strings in it; but they are tuned differently in every one of us.