Ask any school-boy up to the age of fifteen where he would spend his holidays. Not one in five hundred will say, "In the streets of London," if you give him the option of green fields and running waters. It is, then, a fair presumption that there must be something of the child still in the character of the men or the women whom the country charms in maturer as in dawning life.

Labour is the purgatory of the erring.

Tears are akin to prayer - Pharisees parade prayers, imposters parade tears.

Nothing is so contagious as enthusiasm.

Fate laughs at probabilities.

The public man needs but one patron, namely, the lucky moment.

The vices and the virtues are written in a language the world cannot construe; it reads them in a vile translation, and the translators are Failure and Success.