“Old Time, in whose banks we deposit our notesIs a miser who always wants guineas for groats;He keeps all his customers still in arrearsBy lending them minutes and charging them years.”

“The Last LeafI saw him once before,As he passed by the door,And againThe pavement stones resound,As he totters o'er the groundWith his cane.They say that in his prime,Ere the pruning-knife of TimeCut him down,Not a better man was foundBy the Crier on his roundThrough the town.But now he walks the streets,And looks at all he meetsSad and wan,And he shakes his feeble head,That it seems as if he said,"They are gone."The mossy marbles restOn the lips that he has prestIn their bloom,And the names he loved to hearHave been carved for many a yearOn the tomb.My grandmamma has saidPoor old lady, she is deadLong agoThat he had a Roman nose,And his cheek was like a roseIn the snow;But now his nose is thin,And it rests upon his chinLike a staff,And a crook is in his back,And a melancholy crackIn his laugh.I know it is a sinFor me to sit and grinAt him here;But the old three-cornered hat,And the breeches, and all that,Are so queer!And if I should live to beThe last leaf upon the treeIn the spring,Let them smile, as I do now,At the old forsaken boughWhere I cling.”

“Sin has many tools, but a lie is the handle which fits them all.”

“The real religion of the world comes from women much more than from men--from mothers most of all, who carry the key of our souls in their bosoms.”

“A child's education should begin at least one hundred years before he is born.”

“Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.”

“Shun such as lounge through afternoons and eves,And on thy dial write, "Beware of thieves!"Felon of minutes, never taught to feelThe worth of treasures which thy fingers steal,Pick my left pocket of its silver dime,But spare the right,--it holds my golden time!”