They talk about their Pilgrim blood, their birthright high and holy! a mountain-stream that ends in mud thinks is melancholy.
The foolish and the dead alone never change their opinions.
There is no bore we dread being left alone with so much as our own minds.
Love lives on, and hath a power to bless when they who loved are hidden in the grave.
Taste is the next gift to genius.
Compromise makes a good umbrella, but a poor roof; it is temporary expedient, often wise in party politics, almost sure to be unwise in statesmanship.