Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe, old age flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.

As the pain that can be told is but half a pain, so the pity that questions has little healing in its touch.

There are moments when a man's imagination, so easily subdued to what it lives in, suddenly rises above its daily level and surveys the long windings of destiny.

The real loneliness is living among all these kind people who only ask one to pretend!

In our hurried world too little value is attached to the part of the connoisseur and dilettante.

In any really good subject, one has only to probe deep enough to come to tears.

Make ones center of life inside ones self, not selfishly or excludingly, but with a kind of unassailable serenity.