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| And the song, from beginning to end, I found in the heart of a friend | | Uncategorized | |
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| Archly the maiden smiled, with eyes overrunning with laughter, / Said, in a tremulous voice, `Why don't you speak for yourself, John?' | | Uncategorized | |
| Art is long, and Time is fleeting | | Art; Time | |
| Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave | | Art; Heart; Time | |
| Art is the child of Nature; yes, her darling child, in whom we trace the features of the mother's face, her aspect and her attitude. | | Art; Motherhood; Nature | |
| As I gaze upon the sea! All the old romantic legends, all my dreams, come back to me. | | Uncategorized | |
| As to the pure mind all things are pure, so to the poetic mind all things are poetical | | Mind | |
| As unto the bow the cord is, / So unto the man is woman; / Though she bends him, she obeys him, / Though she draws him, yet she follows; / Useless each without the other! | | Uncategorized | |
| Be still, sad heart, and cease repining; Behind the clouds the sun is shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary. | | Fate | |
| Being all fashioned of the self-same dust, let us be merciful as well as just | | Fashion | |
| Beside the ungathered rice he lay. / His sickle in his hand. | | Uncategorized | |
| Between the dark and the daylight, / When the night is beginning to lower, / Comes a pause in the day's occupations, / That is known as the Children's Hour. | | Uncategorized | |
| Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! / Beware the awful avalanche! | | Uncategorized | |
| Build me straight, O worthy Master! / Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel, / That shall laugh at all disaster, / And with wave and whirlwind wrestle! | | Uncategorized | |
| Build today, then strong and sure, With a firm and ample base; And ascending and secure. Shall tomorrow find its place. | | Uncategorized | |
| But the father answered never a word. / A frozen corpse was he. | | Uncategorized | |
| By too much sitting still, the body becomes unhealthy; and soon the mind | | Uncategorized | |
| Critics are sentinels in the grand army of letters, stationed at the corners of newspapers and reviews, to challenge every new author. | | Criticism | |
| Deeds are better things than words are, actions mightier than boastings | | Uncategorized | |
