It is to the credit of human nature, that, except where its selfishness is brought into play, it loves more readily than it hates. Hatred, by a gradual and quiet process, will even be transformed to love, unless the change be impeded by a continually new irritation of the original feeling of hostility.

All brave men love; for he only is brave who has affections to fight for, whether in the daily battle of life, or in physical contests.

I heard a neigh. Oh, such a brisk and melodious neigh it was. My very heart leapt with the sound.

Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.

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

Labor is the curse of the world, and nobody can meddle with it without becoming proportionately brutalized.

The sorrow that lay cold in her mother's heart... converted it into a tomb.