Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping on from point to point.
All things have rest: why should we toil alone, We only toil, who are the first of things.
Time [is] flowing in the middle of the night.
It becomes no man to nurse despair, but, in the teeth of clenched antagonisms, to follow up the worthiest till he die.
I desire to leave to the men that come after me a remembrance of me in good works.
O hard, when love and duty clash!