Youth fades, love droops, the leaves of friendship fall; A mother's secret hope outlives them all.
Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.Memory is a net: one that finds it full of fish when he takes it from the brook, but a dozen miles of water have run through it without sticking.
Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.Whatever comes from the brain carries the hue of the place it came from, and whatever comes from the heart carries the heat and color of its birthplace.
Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.The Indian is but a sketch in red crayon of a rudimental manhood. To the problem of his relation to the white race, there is one solution: extermination.
Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.