A willing heart adds feather to the heel.
O mysterious Night! thou art not silent; many tongues halt thou.
If my heart were not light, I would die.
It ever is the marked propensity of restless and aspiring minds to look into the stretch of dark futurity.
I believe this earth on which we stand is but the vestibule to glorious mansions through which a moving crowd forever press.
Half-uttered praise is to the curious mind, as to the eye half-veiled beauty is, more precious than the whole.