Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition. In winter, when the dismal rain comes down in slanting lines, and wind, that grand old harper, smote his thunder-harp of pines. A man gazing on the stars is proverbially at the mercy of the puddles in the road. Christmas is the day that holds all time together. The sea complains upon a thousand shores. Looking forward into an empty year strikes one with a certain awe, because one finds therein no recognition. The years behind have a friendly aspect, and they are warmed by the fires we have kindled, and all their echoes are the echoes of our own voices. I would rather be remembered by a song than by a victory. A man's real possession is his memory. In nothing else is he rich, in nothing else is he poor. I go into my library and all history unrolls before me. If a man is worth knowing at all, he is worth knowing well. | 
