The nunneries of silent nooks, the murmured longing of the wood.

Two meanings have our lightest fantasies,- One of the flesh, and of the spirit one.

It seems to me that the bane of our country is a profession of faith either with no basis of real belief, or with no proper examination of the grounds on which the creed is supposed to rest.

There is no bore we dread being left alone with so much as our own minds.

Old gold has a civilizing virtue which new gold must grow old to be capable of secreting.

The pale and quiet moon Makes her calm forehead bare, And the last fragments of the storm, Like shattered rigging from a fight at sea, Silent and few, are drifting over me.

There is no self-delusion more fatal than that which makes the conscience dreamy with the anodyne of lofty sentiments, while the life is groveling and sensual