Blessed are the joymakers.

There is no divining-rod whose dip shall tell us at twenty what we shall most relish at thirty.

Of dead kingdoms I recall the soul, sitting amid their ruins

The highest triumph of art, is the truest presentation of nature.

A lamp is lit in woman's eye; that souls, else lost on earth, remember angels by.

Spring is a beautiful piece of work; and not to be in the country to see it done is the not realizing what glorious masters we are, and how cheerfully, minutely, and unflaggingly the fair fingers of the season broider the world for us.

Nature has thrown a veil of modest beauty over maidenhood and moss-roses.