No longer forward or behind I look in hope or fear, But grateful, take the good I find, The best of now and here.

For all sad words of tongue and pen, The saddest are these, 'It might have been'.

A little smile, a word of cheer, A bit of love from someone near, A little gift from one held dear, Best wishes for the coming year. These make a merry christmas!

Through this broad street, restless ever, ebbs and flows a human tide, wave on wave a living river; wealth and fashion side by side; Toiler, idler, slave and master, in the same quick current glide.

Swan flocks of lilies shoreward lying, In sweetness, not in music, dying.

Along the river's summer walk, The withered tufts of asters nod; And trembles on its arid stalk the hoar plum of the golden-rod.

Alas for him who never sees The stars shine through his cypress-trees Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play!

All the windows of my heart I open to the day.

Behind the cloud the starlight lurks, Through showers the sunbeams fall; For God, who loveth all his works, Has left his Hope with all.

If thou of fortune be bereft, and in thy store there be but left two loaves, sell one, and with the dole, buy hyacinths to feed thy soul.

Green calm below, blue quietness above.

Ma? I think you have the spirit of husband-repelling. You are too hard, ma, you will not find a husband. But my pastor can destroy that spirit.

Be interested yourself, and you will interest others.

I owe my life to my father. I remember that my first Christmas present was a ball. In the district where we lived, there weren't many kids who had one.

He died fighting for what he believed in.

He neither serves nor rules, he transmits. His position is humble and the beauty at the crown is not his own. He is merely a channel.

Two days in this city is worth two months in New York.

Success requires a persistent misreading of the odds.

When the sun rises, do you not see a round disc of fire somewhat like a guinea? O no, no, I see an innumerable company of the heavenly host crying Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty.

Sure love is cruel and selfish and totally obtuse-- at least, blinded by the light, young love is.

What all the wise men promised has not happened and what all the dammed fools said would happen has come to pass.