I am never indifferent, and never pretend to be, to what people say or think of my books. They are my children, and I like to have them liked.
The things that have been and shall be no more, The things that are, and that hereafter shall be, The things that might have been, and yet were not, The fading twilight of joys departed.
No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.
Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others.
Round about what is, lies a whole mysterious world of might be, a psychological romance of possibilities and things that do not happen.
Every man is in some sort a failure to himself. No one ever reaches the heights to which he aspires.
A sermon is no sermon in which I cannot hear the heartbeat.
My soul is full of longing for the secret of the sea.
The morning pouring everywhere, its golden glory on the air.
The happy should not insist too much upon their happiness in the presence of the unhappy.
Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll.
Labor with what zeal we will, Something still remains undone, Something uncompleted still Waits the rising of the sun.
The bravest are the tenderest.
The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf.
A young critic is like a boy with a gun; he fires at every living thing he sees. He thinks only of his own skill, not of the pain he is giving.
Gone are the birds that were our summer guests.
Success is not something to wait for, it is something to work for.
No one is so accursed by fate, no one so utterly desolate, but some heart though unknown responds unto his own.
To be strong is to be happy!
Let us then, be up and doing.