We know that madness belongs to love,--what power to paint a vile object in hues of heaven.

Line in Nature is not found; Unit and Universe are round.

Peace has its victories, but it takes brave men and women to win them.

Go forth into the busy world and love it. Interest yourself in its life, mingle kindly with its joys and sorrows.

It depends little on the object, much on the mood, in art.

Time, which shows so vacant, indivisible, and divine in its coming, is slit and peddled into trifles and tatters. A door is to bepainted, a lock to be repaired. I want wood, or oil, or meal, or salt; the house smokes, or I have a headache; then the tax; and an affair to be transacted with a man without heart or brains; and the stinging recollection of an injurious or very awkward word,--these eat up the hours.

The charm of fine manners is music and sculpture and picture to many who do not pretend to appreciation of these arts.