The heart forgets its sorrow and ache.

Be NOBLE! and the nobleness that liesIn other men, sleeping, but never dead,Will rise in majesty to meet thine own.

As life runs on, the road grows strange with faces new - and near the end. The milestones into headstones change, Neath every one a friend.

A weed is no more than a flower in disguise.

The secret of force in writing lies not so much in the pedigree of nouns and adjectives and verbs, as in having something that you believe in to say, and making the parts of speech vividly conscious of it.

Men's thoughts and opinions are in a great degree vassals of him who invents a new phrase or re-applies an old epithet. The thought or feeling a thousand times repeated becomes his at last who utters it best.

Not suffering, but faint heart, is worst of woes.