This ennui, for which we Saxons had no name,--this word of France, has got a terrific significance. It shortens life, and bereaves the day of its light.

We do not count a man's years until he has nothing else to count.

Every burned book or house enlightens the world; every suppressed or expunged word reverberates through the earth from side to side.

A home kept to the end of display is impossible to all but a few women, and their success is dearly bought.

Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.

When at last in a race a new principle appears, an idea--that conserves it; ideas only save races.

My son, a perfect little boy of five years and three months, had ended his earthly life. You can never sympathize with me; you can never know how much of me such a young child can take away. A few weeks ago I accounted myself a very rich man, and now the poorest of all.