The spirit of the world, the great calm presence of the creator, comes not forth to the sorceries of opium or of wine.

We live by our imagination, our admirations, and our sentiments.

A man finds room in the few square inches of the face for the traits of all his ancestors; for the expression of all his history, and his wants.

A man complained that on his way home to dinner he had every day to pass through that long field of his neighbor's. I advised him to buy it, and it would never seem long again.

Sleep is not, death is not; Who seem to die Live. House you were born in, Friends of your spring-time, old man and young maid, Day's toil and it's guerdon, They are all vanishing, Fleeing to fables, Cannot be moored

For the resolute and determined, there is time and opportunity.

We over-estimate the conscience of our friend. His goodness seems better than our goodness, his nature finer, his temptations less. Everything that is his,--his name, his form, his dress, books, and instruments,--fancy enhances. Our own thought sounds new and larger from his mouth.