Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it; We are happy now because God wills it.

Truth only needs to be for once spoken out; and there's such music in her, such strange rhythm, as makes men's memories her joyous slaves.

To genius life never grows commonplace.

Some day the soft Ideal that we wooed confronts us fiercely, foe-beset, pursued, and cries reproachful: Was it then my praise, and not myself was loved? Prove now thy truth; I claim of thee the promise of thy youth.

There comes Emerson first, whose rich words, every one, Are like gold nails in temples to hang trophies on.

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.

He who is firmly seated in authority soon learns to think security, and not progress, the highest lesson in statecraft.