For the man sound in body and serene of mind there is no such thing as bad weather; every sky has its beauty, and storms which whip the blood do but make it pulse more vigorously

Life, I fancy, would very often be insupportable but for the luxury of self-compassion; in cases numberless, this it must be that saves from suicide.

Honest winter, snow-clad and with the frosted beard, I can welcome not uncordially; but that long deferment of the calendar s promise, that weeping gloom of March and April, that bitter blast outraging the honour of May-how often has it robbed me of heart and hope.