Our prayers are prophets.

Society is frivolous, and shreds its day into scraps, its conversation into ceremonies and escapes.

What we seek we shall find; what we flee from flees from us.

It is true that genius takes its rise out of the mountains of rectitude; that all beauty and power which men covet are somehow born out of that Alpine district; that any extraordinary degree of beauty in man or woman involves a moral charm.

Our life seems not present, so much as prospective; not for the affairs on which it is wasted, but as a hint of this vast- flowingvigor.

We boil at different degrees.

Hospitality consists in a little fire, a little food, and an immense quiet