Truth crushed to earth shall rise again.
A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.
Weep not that the world changes- did it keep a stable, changeless state, it were a cause indeed to weep.
All that tread, the globe are but a handful to the tribes, that slumber in its bosom.
The birch-bark canoe of the savage seems to me one of the most beautiful and perfect things of the kind constructed by human art.
The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.
And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, and the year smiles as it draws near its death.
Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger.
Where hast thou wandered, gentle gale, to find the perfumes thou dost bring?
To him who in the love of nature holds communion with her visible forms, she speaks a various language.
Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go; the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.
Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increase are fruits of innocence and blessedness.
The melancholy days have come, the saddest of the year, of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear.
The little windflower, whose just opened eye is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.
