The little man is still a man.

Few people have the imagination for reality.

That we understand something perfectly, that we accomplish something better than anyone else around us, that is what matters.

Wood burns because it has the proper stuff in it; and a man becomes famous because he has the proper stuff in him.

Whatever Nature undertakes, she can only accomplish it in a sequence. She never makes a leap.

Superstition is part of the poetry of life.

So then the year is repeating its old story again. We are come once more, thank God! to its most charming chapter. The violets and the Mayflowers are as its inscriptions or vignettes. It always makes a pleasant impression on us, when we open again at these pages of the book of life.