There is nothing so unpardonable as to consent to a senseless, aimless, purposeless life.

God is the perfect poet.

So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!

Again the Cousin's whistle! Go, my Love.

I hold that a man should strive to the uttermost for his life's set prize.

If you get simple beauty and naught else, you get about the best thing God invents.

And inasmuch as feeling, the East's gift, Is quick and transient,- comes, and lo! is gone, While Northern thought is slow and durable.