Out of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow.

To be 70 years old is like climbing the Alps. You reach a snow-crowned summit, and see behind you the deep valley stretching miles and miles away, and before you other summits higher and whiter, which you may have strength to climb, or may not. Then

The shades of night were falling fast, / As through an Alpine village passed / A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, / A banner with the strange device, / Excelsior!

Whoever benefits his enemy with straightforward intention that man's enemies will soon fold their hands in devotion.

I have an affection for a great city. I feel safe in the neighborhood of man, and enjoy the sweet security of the streets.

The dawn is not distant, nor is the night starless; love is eternal.