Teacher, tender comrade, wife, A fellow-farer true through life.

We fill the slaughterhouses daily with screams of fear and pain.

There is no foreign land; it is the traveller only that is foreign.

To cast in it with Hyde was to die a thousand interests and aspirations.

In anything fit to be called by the name of reading, the process itself should be absorbing and voluptuous; we should gloat over a book, be rapt clean out of ourselves.

As if a man's soul were not too small to begin with, they have dwarfed an narrowed theirs by a life of all work and no play; until here they are at forty, with a listless attention, a mind vacant of all material of amusement, and not one thought to rub against another, while they wait for the train.

There is but one art, to omit! Oh, if I knew how to omit I would ask no other knowledge. A man who knows how to omit would make an Iliad of a daily paper.