A tender sadness drops upon my soul, like the soft twilight dropping on the world.

The dead keep their secrets, and in a while we shall be as wise as they - and as taciturn.

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.

A man does not plant a tree for himself; he plants it for posterity.

Every man's road in life is marked by the grave of his personal likings.

If we were to live here always, with no other care than how to feed, clothe, and house ourselves, life would be a very sorry business. It is immeasurably heightened by the solemnity of death.

If you wish to make a man look noble, your best course is to kill him. What superiority he may have inherited from his race, what superiority nature may have personally gifted him with, comes out in death.