Oh, give us the man who sings at his work.

Only the person of worth can recognize the worth in others.

The healthy know not of their health, but only the sick: this is the physician's aphorism, and applicable in a far wider sense than he gives it.

In books lies the soul of the whole Past Time; the articulate audible voice of the Past, when the body and material substance of it has altogether vanished like a dream.

Eternity looks grander and kinder if time grow meaner and more hostile.

No man lives without jostling and being jostled; in all ways he has to elbow himself through the world, giving and receiving offence.

The eternal stars shine out again, so soon as it is dark enough.