That is the stimulus of nature; it is never, never old, and always developing. Even the scarred, wrinkled earth herself is a mere infant among the old ladies and gentlemen that tread foot-paths in the sky.

Imagine how terrifying it would be if we had to decide the beginnings of things for ourselves: as to what race we should belong, what sex, and all that, instead of placidly coming out of unconsciousness to find it all arranged!

what's the good of having news an' ye must coop it? It's like cold veal pie upon the chest for supper, the same being over old, under done, and dry o' gravy.

it is really astonishing how few colors are inharmonious when they are profusely massed and have green for a background.

Surely there is no greater garden for human-nature study than the flotsam and jetsam of the hospital.

what is life worth if one has nothing to give away? This lack, it seems to me, must be the sharpest pang of poverty.

even as human vitality is at its lowest ebb in the early morning, so it is with plant life in the early spring.