If one waits for the right time to come before writing, the right time never comes.

To be young is surely the best, if the most precarious, gift of life.

Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, We are happy now because God so wills it; No matter how barren the past may have been, 'T is enough for us now that the leaves are green; We sit in the warm shade and feel right well How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell... The breeze comes whispering in our ear, That dandelions are blossoming near... Every thing is upward striving; 'T is as easy now for the heart to be true As for grass to be green or skies to be blue, - 'T is the natural way of living.

Like streams that keep a summer mind Snow-hid in Jenooary.

Tyrants are but the spawn of Ignorance, Begotten by the slaves they trample on.

And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days.

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