Silence is sorrow's best food.

No man, I suspect, ever lived long in the country without being bitten by these meteorological ambitions. He likes to be hotter and colder, to have been more deeply snowed up, to have more trees and larger blown down than his neighbors.

The discontent with the existing order of things pervaded the atmosphere, wherever the conditions were favorable, long before Columbus, seeking the back door of Asia, found himself knocking at the front door of America.

His heart kep' goin' pity-pat, But hern went pity-Zekle.

Attention is the stuff that memory is made of, and memory is accumulated genius.

Sincerity is impossible, unless it pervade the whole being, and the pretence of it saps the very foundation of character.

To fail at all is to fail utterly.