Three years of night, and through the darkness a sunbeam at last! At sea adrift and lost, and now land! Dead so long, and, lo! the thrill and stir of resurrection.

Sleep was not for such an hour.

Hope deals with the future; now and the past are but servants that wait on her with impulse and suggestive circumstance.

Starting from the favor of the tribune, she carried him forward indefinitely.
The wonder is, not that things so purely imaginative as the results she points us to can make us so happy, but that we can receive them as so real.

They must be as gorgeous poppies under the influence of which, under the crimson and purple and gold, reason lies down the while, and is not.