In the entire circle of the year there are no days so delightful as those of a fine October, when the trees are bare to the mild heavens, and the red leaves bestrew the road, and you can feel the breath of winter, morning and evening - no days so calm, so tenderly solemn, and with such a reverent meekness in the air.

In my garden I spend my days; in my library I spend my nights.

Happiness never lays its finger on its pulse. If we attempt to steal a glimpse of its features it disappears.

Death, which we are accustomed to consider an evil, really acts for us the friendliest part, and takes away the commonplace of existence.

A thought may be very commendable as a thought, but I value it chiefly as a window through which I can obtain insight on the thinker.

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

Every day travels toward death; the last only arrives at it.