A tale in everything.

In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind, With tranquil restoration: - feelings, too, Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man's life, His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love.

One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave.

Earth has not anything to show more fair.

For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.

In modern business it is not the crook who is to be feared most, it is the honest man who doesn't know what he is doing.

Spade! Thou art a tool of honor in my hands. I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride.