Joy is the sweet voice, joy the luminous cloud. We in ourselves rejoice! And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight, all melodies the echoes of that voice, all colours a suffusion from that light.

Poor little Foal of an oppressed race! I love the languid patience of thy face.

A Falsehood is, in one sense, a dead thing; but too often it moves about, galvanized by self-will, and pushes the living out of their seats.

Prayer is the very highest energy of which the mind is capable.

Boys and girls, And women, that would groan to see a child Pull off an insect's leg, all read of war, The best amusement for our morning meal.

Death but supplies the oil for the inextinguishable lamp of life.

Until you understand a writer's ignorance, presume yourself ignorant of his understanding.