Love like Death,, Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook Beside the scepter

Labour is the purgatory of the erring.

People praise us behind our backs, but we hear them not; few before our faces, and who is not suspicious of the truth of such praise?

Fine natures are like fine poems; a glance at the first two lines suffices for a guess into the beauty that waits you if you read on.

More is got from one book on which the thought settles for a definite end in knowledge, than from libraries skimmed over by a wandering eye.

Archaeology is not only the hand maid of history, it is also the conservator of art.

A sense of contentment makes us kindly and benevolent to others; we are not chafed and galled by cares which are tyrannical because original. We are fulfilling our proper destiny, and those around us feel the sunshine of our own hearts.