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

Yet through all, we know this tangled skein is in the hands of One, Who sees the end from the beginning: He shall unravel all.

Your death and my death are mainly of importance to ourselves. The black plumes will be stripped off our hearses within the hour; tears will dry, hurt hearts close again, our graves grow level with the church-yard, and although we are away, the world wags on. It does not miss us; and those who are near us, when the first strangeness of vacancy wears off, will not miss us much either.

A man gazing at the stars is proverbially at the mercy of the puddles in the road.

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

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

God has thickly strewn infinity with grandeur.