Each cloud-capt mountain is a holy altar; an organ breathes in every grove; and the full heart ’s a Psalter, rich in deep hymn of gratitude and love.
Love exceedeth all treasure in price.
That a man be willing, when others are so too, as far forth as for peace and defence of himself he shall think it necessary, to lay down this right to all things; and be contented with so much liberty against other men, as he would allow other men against himself.
With fingers weary and worn, with eyelids heavy and red, a woman sat in unwomanly rags plying her needle and thread,— Stitch! stitch! stitch! O men with sisters dear, O men with mothers and wives, it is not linen you’re wearing out, but human creatures’ lives! Sewing at once a double thread, a shroud as well as a shirt… O God! that bread should be so dear, and flesh and blood so cheap! No blessed leisure for love or hope, but only time for grief…My tears must stop, for every drop hinders needle and thread.
For the more part, youthe is rebel unto Reason, and hateth her doctrine.
No sun—no moon—no morn—no noon, no dawn—no dusk—no proper time of day, no warmth—no cheerfulness—no healthful ease, no road, no street, no t’ other side the way, no comfortable feel in any member— no shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, no fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds, November!