Books are a finer world within the world. (1863)

A bottomless pit of violence, a Tower of Babel where all are speakers and no hearers.

The globe has been circumnavigated, but no man ever yet has; you may survey a kingdom and note the result in maps, but all the savants in the world could not produce a reliable map of the poorest human personality.

My garden, with its silence and pulses of fragrance that come and go on the airy undulations, affects me like sweet music. Care stops at the gates, and gazes at me wistfully through the bars.

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

Good-humor and, generosity carry day with the popular heart all the world over.

To be occasionally quoted is the only fame I care for.