A human act once set in motion flows on forever to the great account. Our deathlessness is in what we do, not in what we are.

Memoirs are the backstairs of history.

On a starred night Prince Lucifer uprose, Tired of his dark dominion swung the fiend . . . He reached a middle height, and at the stars, Which are the brain of heaven, he looked, and sank. Around the ancient track marched, rank on rank, The army of unalterable law.

But O the truth, the truth. The many eyes That look on it The diverse things they see.

Not till the fire is dying in the grate, Look we for any kinship with the stars. Oh, wisdom never comes when it is gold, And the great price we paid for it full worth: We have it only when we are half earth. Little avails that coinage to the old!

The well of true wit is truth itself.

Who rises from prayer a better man, his prayer is answered.