At the devil's booth are all things sold. Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold.

Most long lives resemble those threads of gossamer, the nearest approach to nothing unmeaningly prolonged, scarce visible pathways of some worm from his cradle to his grave.

A great part of human suffering has its root in the nature of man, and not in that of his institutions.

That best academy, a mother's knee.

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

Ez fer war, I call it murder,- There you hev it plain an' flat; I don't want to go no furder Than my Testyment fer that. . . . . . An' you 've gut to git up airly Ef you want to take in God.

Time makes ancient good uncouth.