It is the last straw that breaks the camel’s back.
A good thing can’t be cruel.
There is no substitute for thoroughgoing, ardent, and sincere earnestness.
There are hopes, the bloom of whose beauty would be spoiled by the trammels of description; too lovely, too delicate, too sacred for words, they should only be known through the sympathy of hearts.
Hours are golden links – God’s tokens reaching heaven.
Shall we speak of the inspiration of a poet or a priest, and not of the heart impelled by love and self-devotion to the lowliest work in the lowliest way of life?
There is nothing truer than physiognomy, taken in connection with manner.
Although I am an old man, night is generally my time for walking.
Death is a mighty, universal truth.
O, if the deeds of human creatures could be traced to their source, how beautiful would even death appear; for how much charity, mercy, and purified affection would be seen to have their growth in dusty graves!
To close the eyes, and give a seemly comfort to the apparel of the dead, is poverty’s holiest touch of nature.
The aphorism “Whatever is, is right,” would be as final as it is lazy, did it not include the troublesome consequence that nothing that ever was, was wrong.
Without strong affection, and humanity of heart, and gratitude to that Being whose code is mercy, and whose great attribute is benevolence to all things that breathe, true happiness can never be attained.
We can refute assertions, but who can refute silence?
Spite is a little word, but it represents as strange a jumble of feelings and compound of discords, as any polysyllable in the language.
Troubles are exceedingly gregarious in their nature, and flying in flocks are apt to perch capriciously.
He describes it as a large apartment, with a red brick floor and a capacious chimney; the ceiling garnished with hams, sides of bacon, and ropes of onions.
Remember, to the last, that while there is life there is hope.
Up the two terrace flights of steps the rain ran wildly, and beat at the great door, like a swift messenger rousing those within;.
The rippling of the river seemed to cause a correspondent stir in his uneasy reflections. He would have laid them asleep if he could, but they were in movement, like the stream, and all tending one way with a strong current.