Who is it that loves me and will love me forever with an affection which no chance, no misery, no crime of mine can do away? It is you, my mother.

Not one false man but doth uncountable evil.

Long stormy spring-time, wet contentious April, winter chilling the lap of very May; but at length the season of summer does come.

Culture is the process by which a person becomes all that they were created capable of being.

Stern accuracy in inquiring, bold imagination in describing, these are the cogs on which history soars or flutters and wobbles.

The depth of our despair measures what capability and height of claim we have to hope.

All work is as seed sown; it grows and spreads, and sows itself anew.