He who keeps his faith only, cannot be discrowned.

Death is delightful. Death is dawn, The waking from a weary night Of fevers unto truth and light.

Piety is indifferent whether she enters at the eye or at the ear. There is none of the senses at which she does not knock one day or other. The Puritans forgot this, and thrust Beauty out of the meeting-house and slammed the door in her face.

Good heavens, of what un costly material is our earthly happiness composed... if we only knew it. What incomes have we not had from a flower, and how unfailing are the dividends of the seasons.

The heart forgets its sorrow and ache.

The snow had begun in the gloaming, and busily all the night had been heaping field and highway with a silence deep and white.

Safe in the hallowed quiets of the past.