The great tragedy of the average man is that he goes to his grave with his music still in him.
Two ways the rivers Leap down to different seas, and as they roll Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence Becomes a benefaction to the towns They visit, wandering silently among them, Like patriarchs old among their shining tents.
There’s not a ship that sails the ocean, But every climate, every soil, Must bring its tribute, great or small, And help to build the wooden wall!
Youth comes but once a life time. Perhaps, but it remains strong in many for their entire lives.
Many people do not allow their principles to take root, but pull them up every now and then, as children do the flowers they have planted, to see if they are growing.
The first pressure of sorrow crushes out from our hearts the best wine; afterwards the constant weight of it brings forth bitterness, the taste and stain from the lees of the vat.
And so we plough along, as the fly said to the ox.
Make not thyself the judge of any man.
If you once understand an author’s character, the comprehension of his writings becomes easy.
Evil is only good perverted.
Write on your doors the saying wise and old. “Be bold!” and everywhere – “Be bold; Be not too bold!” Yet better the excess Than the defect; better the more than less sustaineth him and the steadiness of his mind beareth him out.
Let us, then, be what we are; speak what we think; and in all things keep ourselves loyal to truth.
Into a world unknown,-the corner-stone of a nation!
And the wind plays on those great sonorous harps, the shrouds and masts of ships.
By the shore of Gitche Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, At the doorway of his wigwam, In the pleasant Summer morning, Hiawatha stood and waited.
Magnificent autumn! He comes not like a pilgrim, clad in russet weeds; not like a hermit, clad in gray; but like a warrior with the stain of blood in his brazen mail.
People of a lively imagination are generally curious, and always so when a little in love.
O beautiful, awful summer day, what hast thou given, what taken away?
Time has a doomsday book, upon whose pages he is continually recording illustrious names. But as often as a new name is written there, an old one disappears. Only a few stand in illuminated characters never to be effaced.
Our faith triumphant o’er our fears.