It is very odd that Nature should be so unscrupulous. She is no saint . . .
Too busy with the crowded hour to fear to live or die.
There is health in table talk and nursery play. We must wear old shoes and have aunts and cousins.
The time is coming when all men will see that the gift of God to the soul is not a vaunting, overpowering, excluding sanctity, buta sweet, natural goodness, a goodness like thine and mine, and that so invites thine and mine to be and to grow.
The field cannot be seen from within the field.
I read the other day some verses written by an eminent painter which were original and not conventional.