There are times when the mirth of others only saddens us, especially the mirth of children with high spirits, that jar on our own quiet mood.

Toil to some is happiness, and rest to others. This man can only breathe in crowds, and that man only in solitudes.

Better than fame is still the wish for fame, the constant training for a glorious strife.

Man must be disappointed with the lesser things of life before he can comprehend the full value of the greater.

Kindness like light speaks in the air it gilds.

The poet in prose or verse - the creator - can only stamp his images forcibly on the page in proportion as he has forcibly felt, ardently nursed, and long brooded over them.

No reproach is like that we clothe in a smile, and present with a bow.