The one thing that matters is the effort. It continues, whereas the end to be attained is but an illusion of the climber, as he fares on and on from crest to crest; and once the goal is reached it has no meaning.

The machine does not isolate man from the great problems of nature but plunges him more deeply into them.

Prison is not a mere physical horror. It is using a pickaxe to no purpose that makes a prison.

For, to conceited men, all other men are admirers.

Nothing can match the treasure of common memories.

Each man carries within him the soul of a poet who died young.

One man may hit the mark, another blunder; but heed not these distinctions. Only from the alliance of the one, working with and through the other, are great things born.