It seems a strange fact that it is almost more important for us to be happy ourselves than to try to make other people happy. By being happy we confer untold benefits upon our fellow men.

I can think of no habit, kept up through the years, that binds a married couple more than that of reading good books together. Domestic problems and personal problems are for the time forgotten, and an intellectual intimacy is established that can be maintained in few other ways.

It is not what we have but what we do with what we have that constitutes the value of life.

Half of our sorrows come from setting exalted standards for people and then breaking our hearts when they fail to live up to them.

The hardest grief is often that which leaves no trace.

Life is made up of desires that seem big and vital one minute, and little and absurd the next. I guess we get what's best for us in the end.

There is an invariable law that the only way to keep the real things of life is by sharing them or giving them away.