For, whereas, spring's couriers were once the evidence of our finer senses, now the Associated Press does the trick.
Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
Silent, grim, colossal, the big city has ever stood against its revilers. They call it hard as iron; they say that no pulse of pity beats in its bosom; they compare its streets with lonely forests and deserts of lava.
In the big city the twin spirits Romance and Adventure are always abroad seeking worthy wooers.
You can't tell where ambition begins any more than you can where it is going to wind up.
The soul of the man showed itself for a moment like an evil face in the window of a reputable house.
But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 per cent from the curative power of medicines.
At every corner handkerchiefs drop, fingers beckon, eyes besiege, and the lost, the lonely, the rapturous, the mysterious, the perilous changing clues of adventure are slipped into our fingers. But few of us are willing to hold and follow them.
The greatest treat an actor can have is to witness the pitiful performance with which all other actors desecrate the stage.
He was sure that since her disappearance from home this great, water-girt city held her somewhere, but it was like a monstrous quicksand, shifting its particles constantly, with no foundation, its upper granules of to-day buried tomorrow in ooze and slime.
The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey.
I think we might safely limit the number of motives of a man who seeks fame to three-to ambition, which is a desire for popular applause; to avarice, which looks to the material side of success; and to love of some woman whom he either possesses or desires to possess.
The true adventurer goes forth aimless and uncalculating to meet and greet unknown fate.
It ain't the roads we take; it's what's inside of us that makes us turn out the way we do.
So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her, rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her.
No calamity so touches the common heart of humanity as does the straying of a little child. Their feet are so uncertain and feeble; the ways are so steep and strange.