Would Time but await the close of our favorite follies, we should all be young men, all of us, and until Doom's Day.

Our Creator would never have made such lovely days, and have given us the deep hearts to enjoy them, above and beyond all thought, unless we were meant to be immortal.

A man--poet, prophet, or whatever be may be--readily persuades himself of his right to all the worship that is voluntarily tendered.

What is the voice of song when the world lacks the ear of taste?

Keep the imagination sane--that is one of the truest conditions of communion with heaven.

The world owes all its onward impulses to men ill at ease. The happy man inevitably confines himself within ancient limits.

Methinks it is a token of healthy and gentle characteristics, when women of high thoughts and accomplishments love to sew; especially as they are never more at home with their own hearts than while so occupied.