But she named the infant "Pearl," as being of great price-purchased with all she had-her mother's only treasure!

The breath of peace was fanning her glorious brow, her head was bowed a very little forward, and a tress, escaping from its bonds, fell by the side of her pure white temple, and close to her just opened lips; it hung there motionless! no breath disturbed its repose! She slept as an angel might sleep, having accomplished the mission of her God.

Man is a wretch without woman; but woman is a monster-and thank Heaven, an almost impossible and hitherto imaginary monster--without man, as her acknowledged principal!

Many writers lay very great stress upon some definite moral purpose, at which they profess to aim their works.

To the untrue man, the whole universe is false- it is impalpable- it shrinks to nothing within his grasp. And he himself is in so far as he shows himself in a false light, becomes a shadow, or, indeed, ceases to exist.

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

Writing can come naturally to some. Still, when it comes to good writing, this is true: Easy reading is damn hard writing.