In my garden I spend my days; in my library I spend my nights.
We are never happy; we can only remember that we were so once.
The only thing a man knows is himself.
A man gazing at the stars is proverbially at the mercy of the puddles in the road.
Books are a finer world within the world. (1863)
The discovery of a grey hair when you are brushing out your whiskers of a morning - first fallen flake of the coming snows of age - is a disagreeable thing.