The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting.
Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.
When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music.
Unasked, Unsought, Love gives itself but is not bought.
Joy, temperance, and repose, slam the door on the doctor's nose.
It is a beautiful trait in the lover's character, that they think no evil of the object loved.
The life of man consists not in seeing visions and in dreaming dreams but in active charity and in willing service.
For after all, the best thing one can do when it is raining is let it rain.
Intelligence and courtesy not always are combined; Often in a wooden house a golden room we find.
There are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret, Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together.
Heights by great men reached and kept were not obtained by sudden flight but, while their companions slept, they were toiling upward in the night.
A torn jacket is soon mended, but hard words bruise the heart of a child.
One if by land, two if by sea.
It takes less time to do things right that to explain why you did it wrong.
The purpose of that apple tree is to grow a little new wood each year. That is what I plan to do.
Patience; accomplish thy labor; accomplish thy work of affection! Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike. Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the heart is made godlike, Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered more worthy of heaven!
Between the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the Children's Hour.
The love of learning, the sequestered nooks, And all the sweet serenity of books.
To charm, to strengthen, and to teach: these are the three great chords of might.
The human voice is the organ of the soul.