Every Idea Appears At First As A

Fortunately, We Can Take In Only So Much Misfortune; What Exceeds That Limit Either Destroys Us Or Leaves Us Indifferent.

Our Destiny Often Looks Like A Fruit-tree In Winter. Who Would Think From Its Pitiable Aspect That Those Rigid Boughs, Those Rough Twigs Could Next Spring Again Be Green, Bloom, And Even Bear Fruit? Yet We Hope It, We Know It.

We Find From Experience That Yellow Excites A Warm And Agreeable Impression.... The Eye Is Gladdened, The Heart Expanded And Cheered, A Glow Seems At Once To Breathe Toward Us.

Each Ten Years Of A Man's Life Has Its Own Fortunes, Its Own Hopes, Its Own Desires.

Stood I, O Nature! Man Alone In Thee, Then Were It Worth One's While A Man To Be.