C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.
Mrs. Barbauld
It is to hope, though hope were lost.
Meek-eyed Eve, her cheek yet warm with blushes, slow retires through the Hesperian gardens of the west, and shuts the gates of day.
Sweet daughter of a rough and stormy sire, hoar Winter’s blooming child, delightful Spring.
The first pale blossom of the unripened year.
The harvest song of inward peace.
This dead of midnight is the noon of thought, and wisdom mounts her zenith with the stars.
Twin sister of awkwardness.
Wisdom mounts her zenith with the stars.
Wisdom! I bless thy gentle sway, and ever, ever will obey.
With regard to the choice of friends, there is little to say; for a friend is never chosen. A secret sympathy, the attraction of a thousand nameless qualities, a charm in the expression of the countenance, even in the voice or manner, a similarity of circumstances,—these are the things that begin attachment.