“Many a crown shines spotless now that yet was deeply sullied in the winning.”

He who has done his best for his own time has lived for all times.

Virtue is no empty echo.

Wine invents nothing; it only tattles.

The jest loses its point when he who makes it is the first to laugh.

Forgiveness is the finding again of a lost possession.

If we do not find anything very pleasant, at least we shall find something new.

In a narrow circle the mind contracts. Man grows with his expanded needs.

The future comes slowly, the present flies and the past stands still forever.

What reason, like the careful ant, draws laboriously together, the wind of accident sometimes collects in a moment.

What the inner voice says will not disappoint the hoping soul.

Even the weak become strong when they are united.

Toil of science swells the wealth of art.

Soon is the struggle past, and to the earth, To the eternal sun, I render back These atoms, joined in me for pain and pleasure.

Power is the most persuasive rhetoric.

The storm is master. Man, as a ball, is tossed twixt winds and billows.

Arrow-swift the present sweepeth, and motionless forever stands the past.

Never had Parliament or the crown, or both together, operated in actuality as theory indicated sovereign powers should.

The crown of literature is poetry. It is its end and aim. It is the sublimest activity of the human mind. It is the achievement of beauty and delicacy. The writer of prose can only step aside when the poet passes.

The measure of woman’s distaste for any part of her life lies not in the loudness of her lamentations (these are only an attempt to buy a martyr’s crown at a reduced price) but in her persistent pursuit of that occupation of which she never ceases to complain.

The Helicon of too many poets is not a hill crowned with sunshine and visited by the Muses and the Graces, but an old, mouldering house, full of gloom and haunted by ghosts.

Secluded waters of some pool or lakelet, are the crown and summit of the floral expeditions of summer.

Four things are laid upon me: to drive out the English; to bring you to be crowned and anointed at Reims; to rescue the Duke of Orléans from the hands of the English; and to raise the siege of Orleans.

We are all making a crown for Jesus out of these daily lives of ours, either a crown of golden, divine love, studded with gems of sacrifice and adoration, or a thorny crown, filled with the cruel briars of unbelief, or selfishness, and sin.

Sometimes life, will get you down, break your heart, steal your crown.