There was never a child so lovely but his mother was glad to get him to sleep.

The sun shines and warms and lights us and we have no curiosity to know why this is so; but we ask the reason of all evil, of pain, and hunger, and mosquitoes and silly people.

We are ashamed of our thoughts and often see them brought forth by others.

The ornaments of our homes are the friends that visit it

Our faith comes in moments . . . yet there is a depth in those brief moments which constrains us to ascribe more reality to them than to all other experiences.

It is the fault of our rhetoric that we cannot strongly state one fact without seeming to belie some other.

Yet America is a poem in our eyes; its ample geography dazzles the imagination, and it will not wait long for metres.