Blessed be childhood, which brings down something of heaven into the midst of our rough earthliness.

The best path through life is the highway.

Mother of Marvels, mysterious and tender Nature, why do we not live more in thee.

It is dangerous to abandon one's self to the luxury of grief; it deprives one of courage, and even of the wish for recovery.

I wonder whether I should gain anything by the attempt to assume a character which is not mine. My wavering manner, born of doubt and scruple, has at least the advantage of rendering all the different shades of my thought, and of being sincere. If it were to become terse, affirmative, resolute, would it not be a mere imitation?

A man only understands what is akin to something already existing in himself.

It is work which gives flavor to life.