[On The Netherlands:] ... the entire country is a kind of saturated sponge.

[On the Netherlands:] There is not a richer or more carefully tilled garden spot in the whole world than this leaky, springy little country.

Grandma told me all about it, Told me so I couldn't doubt it, How she danced, my grandma danced; long ago.

Luxuries unfit us for returning to hardships easily endured before.

Now the noisy winds are still; April's coming up the hill! All the spring is in her train, Led by shining ranks of rain; Pit, pat, patter, clatter, Sudden sun and clatter patter!... All things ready with a will, April's coming up the hill!

I'm as true a Protestant, in sooth, as any fine lady that walks into church, but it's not wrong to turn sometimes to the good St. Nicholas.

Ten years dropped from a man's life are no small loss; ten years of manhood, of household happiness and care; ten years of honest labor, of conscious enjoyment of sunshine and outdoor beauty; ten years of grateful life--one day looking forward to all this; the next, waking to find them passed, and a blank.