War makes rattling good history.

That cold accretion called the world, so terrible in the mass, is so non formidable, even pitiable, in its units.

Women accept their destiny more readily than men.

Ladies know what to guard against, because they read novels that tell them of these tricks.

There are accents in the eye which are not on the tongue, and more tales come from pale lips than can enter an ear. It is both the grandeur and the pain of the remoter moods that they avoid the pathway of sound.

It was that period in the vernal quarter when we may suppose the Dryads to be waking for the season. The vegetable world begins to move and swell and the saps to rise, till in the completest silence of lone gardens and trackless plantations, where everything seems helpless and still after the bond and slavery of frost, there are bustlings, strainings, united thrusts, and pulls-all-together, in comparison with which the powerful tugs of cranes and pulleys in a noisy city are but pigmy efforts.

I have felt lately, more and more, that my present way of living is bad in every respect.