Alas! must it ever be so? Do we stand in our own light, wherever we go, And fight our own shadows forever?

A fresh mind keeps the body fresh. Take in the ideas of the day, drain off those of yesterday. As to the morrow, time enough to consider it when it becomes today.

Those true eyes, Too pure and too honest in aught to disguise, The sweet soul shining through them.

Be it jewel or toy, not the prize gives the joy, but the striving to win the prize.

Rest is sweet after strife.

Whenever I hear French spoken as I approve, I find myself quietly falling in love.

Great sorrow makes sacred the sufferer.