We do ourselves wrong, and too meanly estimate the holiness above us, when we deem that any act or enjoyment good in itself, is not good to do religiously.

We must not think too unkindly even of the east wind. It is not, perhaps, a wind to be loved, even in its benignest moods; but there are seasons when I delight to feel its breath upon my cheek, though it be never advisable to throw open my bosom and take it into my heart, as I would its gentle sisters of the south and west.

Life is made up of marble and mud.

We are as happy as people can be, without making themselves ridiculous, and might be even happier; but, as a matter of taste, we choose to stop short at this point.

Shall we never never get rid of this Past? ... It lies upon the Present like a giant's dead body.

There is something truer and more real, than what we can see with the eyes, and touch with the finger.

The best of us being unfit to die, what an unexpressible absurdity to put the worst to death.