But life is sweet, though all that makes it sweet. Lessen like sound of friends departing feet; And death is beautiful as feet of friend. Coming with welcome at our journey's end.

Life is the jailer, death the angel sent to draw the unwilling bolts and set us free.

The surest plan to make a man is, think him so.

The mind can weave itself warmly in the cocoon of its own thoughts, and dwell a hermit anywhere.

If youth be a defect, it is one that we outgrow only too soon.

They talk about their Pilgrim blood, their birthright high and holy! a mountain-stream that ends in mud thinks is melancholy.

Truth, after all, wears a different face to everybody, and it would be too tedious to wait till all were agreed.

There is no self-delusion more fatal than that which makes the conscience dreamy with the anodyne of lofty sentiments, while the life is groveling and sensual.

Every person born into this world their work is born with them.

Good luck is the willing handmaid of a upright and energetic character, and conscientious observance of duty.