The truly great rest in the knowledge of their own deserts, nor seek the conformation of the world.
A brave soul is a thing which all things serve.
A man does not plant a tree for himself; he plants it for posterity.
Every day travels toward death; the last only arrives at it.
There is a certain even-handed justice in Time; and for what he takes away he gives us something in return. He robs us of elasticity of limb and spirit, and in its place he brings tranquility and repose—the mild autumnal weather of the soul.
The dead keep their secrets, and in a while we shall be as wise as they - and as taciturn.