Not what we give, But what we share, For the gift without the giver Is bare. - James Russell Lowell

Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way,
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold,
First pledge of blithesome [[May],
Which children pluck, and, full of pride, uphold.

Mishaps are like knives, that either serve us or cut us, as we grasp them by the blade or by the handle.

New occasions teach new duties; Time makes ancient good uncouth;
They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth
Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires! we ourselves must Pilgrims be,
Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea,
Nor attempt the Future’s portal with the Past’s blood-rusted key.