“With rushing winds and gloomy skies The dark and stubborn Winter dies: Far-off, unseen, Spring faintly cries, Bidding her earliest child arise; March!”

The healing of the world is in its nameless saints. Each separate star seems nothing, but a myriad scattered stars break up the night and make it beautiful.

Wrapped in his sad-colored cloak, the Day, like a Puritan, standeth Stern in the joyless fields, rebuking the lingering color,– Dying hectic of leaves and the chilly blue of the asters,– Hearing, perchance, the croak of a crow on the desolate tree-top.

But who will watch my lilies, When their blossoms open white? By day the sun shall be sentry, And the moon and the stars by night!

Swelling in anger or sparkling in glee.

We follow and race In shifting chase, Over the boundless ocean-space! Who hath beheld when the race begun? Who shall behold it run?

Those who would attain to any marked degree of excellence in a chosen pursuit must work, and work hard for it, prince or peasant.

Really,’ thought I, ‘we call Baltimore the ‘Monumental City’ for its two marble columns, and here is Edinburg with one at every street-corner!

Departed suns their trails of splendor drew Across departed summers: whispers came From voices, long ago resolved again Into the primeval Silence, and we twain, Ghosts of our present selves, yet still the same, As in a spectral mirror wandered there.

Fame is what you have taken, / Character’s what you give; / When to this truth you waken, / Then you begin to live.

And rest, that strengthens unto virtuous deeds, Is one with Prayer.

The glories of the possible are ours.

The loving are the daring.

The maxims tell you to aim at perfection, which is well; but it’s unattainable, all the same.

To Truth’s house there is a single door, which is experience.

Pansies in soft April rains Fill their stalks with honeyed sap Drawn from Earth’s prolific lap.

Opportunity is rare, and a wise man will never let it go by him.

One of the darkest evils of our world is surely the unteachable wildness of the Good.

Television knows no night. It is perpetual day. TV embodies our fear of the dark, of night, of the other side of things.

There’s a spirit in anything, I think, into which we weave our soul. Not many pilots talk about it, but they think about it in the quiet dark of a night flight.

I can better trust those who helped to relieve the gloom of my dark hours than those who are so ready to enjoy with me the sunshine of my prosperity.

Theology is never any help; it is searching in a dark cellar at midnight for a black cat that isn’t there.

My wife was afraid of the dark… then she saw me naked and now she’s afraid of the light.

The Dark Side of the Moon is a fine album with a textural and conceptual richness that not only invites, but demands involvement.

There will always be those who must look into the dark in order to see.