At the end of life thoughts hitherto impossible come to the collected mind, like good spirits which let themselves down from the shining heights of the past.

Many hammer all over the wall and believe that with each blow they hit the nail on the head.

Girls we love for what they are; young men for what they promise to be.

Superstition is the poesy of practical life; hence, a poet is none the worse for being superstitious.

The Christian religion, though scattered and abroad will in the end gather itself together at the foot of the cross.

Sowing is not as difficult as reaping.

Why should we not recognize in the lightning, the thunder, and the storm wind, the approach of an overwhelming Power, and in the scent of flowers and the gently rustling zephyr the presence of a Being full of love?