I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong, / I shun the thought that lurks in all delight - / The thought of thee - and in the blue heaven's height, / And in the sweetest passage of a song.

Flocks of the memories of the day draw near / The dovecot doors of sleep.

Happiness is not a matter of events; it depends upon the tides of the mind

Recurrence is sure. What the mind suffered last week, or last year, it does not suffer now; but it will suffer again next week or next year.

Our fathers valued change for the sake of its results; we value it in the act.

Spirit of place! It is for this we travel, to surprise its subtlety; and where it is a strong and dominant angel, that place, seen once, abides entire in the memory with all its own accidents, its habits, its breath, its name.