Family traits, like murder, will out. Nature has but so many molds.

Life is a breathing-space between two eternities, a holiday with appalling realities behind and before.

Youth is slipping, dripping, pearl on pearl, away.

With fatal, fatal Love a girlhood goes.

Idleness, simon-pure, from which all manner of good springs like seed from a fallow soil, is sure to be misnamed and misconstrued.

Life is legal tender, and individual character stamps its value. We are from a thousand mints, and all genuine. Despite our infinitely diverse appraisements, we make change for one another. So many ideals planted are worth the great gold of Socrates; so many impious laws broken are worth John Brown.

[Death:] The one inexorable thing!