Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger.

Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increase are fruits of innocence and blessedness.

All that tread, the globe are but a handful to the tribes, that slumber in its bosom.

There is no glory in star or blossom till looked upon by a loving eye; There is no fragrance in April breezes till breathed with joy as they wander by.

Poetry is that art which selects and arranges the symbols of thought in such a manner as to excite the imagination the most powerfully and delightfully.

Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster - children into strength and athletic proportion.

Eloquence is the poetry of prose.

Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go; the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.

Weep not that the world changes - did it keep a stable, changeless state, it were cause indeed to weep.

And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, and the year smiles as it draws near its death.

To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.

Winning isn't everything, but it beats anything in second place.

The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.

Where hast thou wandered. gentle gale, to find the perfumes thou dost bring?

The groves were God's first temples.

The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky Are all asleep tonight.

A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.

Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings.

A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.

Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook.

Loveliest of lovely things are they on earth that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour is prized beyond the sculptured flower.

Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger.

The little windflower, whose just opened eye is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.

Where hast thou wandered, gentle gale, to find the perfumes thou dost bring?

Difficulty is the nurse of greatness.

Here the free spirit of mankind at length Throws its last fetters off and who shall place A limit to the giants unchained strength Or curb his swiftness in the forward race

Do not the bright June roses blow To meet thy kiss at morning hours?

The stormy March has come at last, With winds and clouds and changing skies; I hear the rushing of the blast That through the snowy valley flies.

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.

I hear the howl of the wind that brings the long drear storm on its heavy wings.

Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson, Yet our full-leaved willows are in the freshest green. Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen.

Some of the best lessons we ever learn are learned from past mistakes. The error of the past is the wisdom and success of the future.

Truth lies within a little and certain compass, but error is immense.

There is a contest old as Eden, which still goes on - the conflict between right and wrong, between error and truth. In this conflict every human being has a part.

To me, error analysis is the sweet spot for improvement.

This nation was conceived in liberty and dedicated to the principle - among others - that honest men may honestly disagree; that if they all say what they think, a majority of the people will be able to distinguish truth from error.

What is earnest is not always true; on the contrary, error is often more earnest than truth.

On health care, virtually every political error that could be made was made.

Honest error is to be pitied, not ridiculed.

In all science, error precedes the truth, and it is better it should go first than last.

Nine times out of ten, in the arts as in life, there is actually no truth to be discovered; there is only error to be exposed.

The study of error is not only in the highest degree prophylactic, but it serves as a stimulating introduction to the study of truth.

Truth is immortal; error is mortal.

To kill an error is as good a service as, and sometimes even better than, the establishing of a new truth or fact.

A small error in the former will produce an enormous error in the latter.

The most considerable difference I note among men is not in their readiness to fall into error, but in their readiness to acknowledge these inevitable lapses.

Be calm in arguing; for fierceness makes error a fault, and truth discourtesy.

To the extent that '60s guys own things, yes... but I don't have the publishing, just like most '60s guys, and that was an error, you know... part ownership in publishing was the kind of era that started a little bit later, when real businessmen started to manage artists.

Religion is not a popular error; it is a great instinctive truth, sensed by the people, expressed by the people.