Courage, ne'er by sorrow broken! Aid where tears of virtue flow; Faith to keep each promise spoken! Truth alike to friend and foe!

The game of life looks cheerful when one carries a treasure safe in his heart.

When the measured dance of the hours brings back the happy smile of spring, the buried dead is born again in the life-glance of the sun. The germs which perished to the eye within the cold breast of the earth spring up with joy in the bright realm of day.

Eternity gives nothing back of what one leaves out of the minutes.

Peace is rarely denied to the peaceful.

I speak with the Eternal through the instrument of nature, through the world's history: I read the soul of the artist in his Apollo.

The jest loses its point when he who makes it is the first to laugh.