One picture in ten thousand, perhaps, ought to live in the applause of mankind, from generation to generation until the colors fade and blacken out of sight or the canvas rot entirely away.

The trees reflected in the river - they are unconscious of a spiritual world so near to them. So are we.

Death was too definite an object to be wished for or avoided.

But this had been a sin of passion, not of principle, nor even purpose.

Not yet hardened, many young die good.

She could no longer borrow from the future to ease her present grief.

The calmer thought is not always the right thought, just as the distant view is not always the truest view