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What earnest worker, with hand and brain for the benefit of his fellowmen, could desire a more pleasing recognition of his usefulness than the monument of a tree, ever growing, ever blooming, and ever bearing wholesome fruit?

Washington Irving

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Washington Irving
Age: 76 †
Born: 1783
Born: April 3
Died: 1859
Died: November 28
Author
Biographer
Diplomat
Essayist
Historian
Journalist
Lawyer
Novelist
Playwright
Politician
Writer
New York City
New York
Diedrich Knickerbocker
Geoffrey Crayon
Lauuncelot Langstaff
Hands
Workers
Usefulness
Ever
Fruit
Bearing
Benefits
Pleasing
Tree
Monument
Hand
Worker
Growing
Earnest
Brain
Benefit
Blooming
Desire
Recognition
Wholesome

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No man knows what the wife of his bosom is until he has gone with her through the fiery trials of this world.
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The natural effect of sorrow over the dead is to refine and elevate the mind.
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The easiest thing to do, whenever you fail, is to put yourself down by blaming your lack of ability for your misfortunes.
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How idle a boast, after all, is the immortality of a name! Time is ever silently turning over his pages we are too much engrossed by the story of the present to think of the character and anecdotes that gave interest to the past and each age is a volume thrown aside and forgotten.
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Speculation is the romance of trade, and casts contempt upon on all its sober realities. It renders the stock-jobber a magician, and the exchange a region of enchantment.
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There was one species of despotism under which he had long groaned, and that was petticoat government.
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Those who are well assured of their own standing are least apt to trespass on that of others, whereas nothing is so offensive as the aspirings of vulgarity which thinks to elevate itself by humiliating its neighbor.
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And if unhappy in her love, her heart is like some fortress that has been captured, and sacked, and abandoned, and left desolate.
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Surely happiness is reflective, like the light of heaven.
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A mother is the truest friend we have.
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Every antique farm-house and moss-grown cottage is a picture.
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The literary world is made up of little confederacies, each looking upon its own members as the lights of the universe and considering all others as mere transient meteors, doomed to soon fall and be forgotten, while its own luminaries are to shine steadily into immortality.
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Of all the old festivals, however, that of Christmas awakens the strongest and most heartfelt associations. There is a tone of solemn and sacred feeling that blends with our conviviality, and lifts the sprit to a state of hallowed and elevated enjoyment.
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There is a serene and settled majesty to woodland scenery that enters into the soul and delights and elevates it, and fills it with noble inclinations.
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It was the policy of the good old gentleman to make his children feel that home was the happiest place in the world and I value this delicious home-feeling as one of the choicest gifts a parent can bestow.
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There is a healthful hardiness about real dignity that never dreads contact and communion with others however humble.
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The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to heal - every other affliction to forget: but this wound we consider it a duty to keep open - this affliction we cherish and brood over in solitude.
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