In our methodical American life, we still recognize some magic in summer. Most persons at least resign themselves to being decently happy in June. They accept June. They compliment its weather. They complain of the earlier months as cold, and so spend them in the city; and they complain of the later months as hot, and so refrigerate themselves on some barren sea-coast. God offers us yearly a necklace of twelve pearls; most men choose the fairest, label it June, and cast the rest away.

What are Raphael's Madonnas but the shadow of a mother's love, fixed in permanent outline forever?

Genius is lonely without the surrounding presence of a people to inspire it.

Life is as inexorable as the sea.

Fields are won by those who believe in the winning.

To be really cosmopolitan a man must be at home even in his own country.

There is certainly no defence or water -proof garment against adverse fortune which is, on the whole, so effectual as an habitual sense of humor.