Solitude is as needful to the imagination as society is wholesome for the character.
Beauty hath no true glass, except it be in the sweet privacy of loving eyes.
The story of any one man's real experience finds its startling parallel in that of every one of us.
Virtue treads paths that end not in the grave.
Sorrow is the great idealizer.
With every step of the recent traveler our inheritance of the wonderful is diminished. Those beautiful pictured notes of the possible are redeemed at a ruinous discount in the hard coin of the actual.