They talk about their Pilgrim blood, their birthright high and holy! a mountain-stream that ends in mud thinks is melancholy.

[B]ut in literature, it should be remembered, a thing always becomes his at last who says it best, and thus makes it his own.

All the beautiful sentiments in the world weigh less than a single lovely action.

Against the windows the storm comes dashing, Through tattered foliage the hail tears crashing, The blue lightning flashes, The rapid hail clashes... The thunder is rumbling And crashing and crumbling.

Practical application is the only mordant which will set things in the memory. Study without it is gymnastics, and not work, which alone will get intellectual bread.

Be He nowhere else, God is in all that liberates and lifts, in all that humbles, sweetens, and consoles.

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.