Idleness, simon-pure, from which all manner of good springs like seed from a fallow soil, is sure to be misnamed and misconstrued.

The fears of what may come to pass, I cast them all away, Among the clover scented grass, Among the new-mown hay.

With fatal, fatal Love a girlhood goes.

Family traits, like murder, will out. Nature has but so many molds.

No pleasure or success in life quite meets the capacity of our hearts. We take in our good things with enthusiasm, and think ourselves happy and satisfied but afterward, when the froth and foam have subsided, we discover that the goblet is not more than half-filled with the golden liquid that was poured into it.

High above hate I dwell, O storms! farewell.

My own passion, all my life, has been non-collecting.

Quotations (such as have point and lack triteness) from the great old authors are an act of reverence on the part of the quoter, and a blessing to a public grown superficial and external.

Very few can be trusted with an education.

Youth is slipping, dripping, pearl on pearl, away.

Life is a breathing-space between two eternities, a holiday with appalling realities behind and before.

[Death:] The one inexorable thing!

I am not in the least given to any violent interest in womankind, however, such as has addled the country's brains of late. Give me a manandwoman world: 'tis good enough!

Youth, ah, Youth! all men's desire and sorrow.