If God made poets for anything, it was to keep alive the traditions of the pure, the holy, and the beautiful.

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.

For men in earnest have no time to waste In patching fig-leaves for the naked truth.

Who's not sat tense before his own heart's curtain.

There is surely room for yet another schoolmaster when a score of seers advertise themselves in Boston newspapers.

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

Some kind of pace may be got out of the eeriest jade by the near prospect of oats; but the thoroughbred has the spur in his blood.