God has thickly strewn infinity with grandeur.

Looking forward into an empty year strikes one with a certain awe, because one finds therein no recognition. The years behind have a friendly aspect, and they are warmed by the fires we have kindled, and all their echoes are the echoes of our own voices.

Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition.

There is nothing good in this world which time does not improve.

A man can bear a world's contempt when he has that within which says he's worthy. When he contemns himself, there burns the hell.

Stirling, like a huge brooch, clasps Highlands and Lowlands together.

To have to die is a distinction of which no man is proud.