To all of us the thought of heaven is dear -Why not be sure of it and make it here?No doubt there is a heaven yonder too,But 'tis so far away - and you are near.Men talk of heaven, - there is no heaven but here;Men talk of hell, - there is no hell but here;Men of hereafters talk, and future lives,O love, there is no other life - but here.

It is curious how, from time immemorial, man seems to have associated the idea of evil with beauty, shrunk from it with a sort of ghostly fear, while, at the same time drawn to it by force of its hypnotic attraction.

We are all treading the vanishing road of a song in the air, the vanishing road of the spring flowers and the winter snows, the vanishing roads of the winds and the streams, the vanishing road of beloved faces.

We have, of course, long since ceased to think of Nature as the sympathetic mirror of our moods, or to imagine that she has any concern with the temporal affairs of man.

Stay the course, light a star, Change the world where'er you are.

All wines are by their very nature full of reminiscence, the golden tears and red blood of summers that are gone.

There is something mean in human nature that prefers to think evil, that gives a willing ear and a ready welcome to calumny, a sort of jealousy of goodness and greatness and things of good report.