Time is the supreme illusion. It is but the inner prism by which we decompose being and life, the mode under which we perceive successively what is simultaneous in idea.

Every landscape is, as it were, a state of the soul, and whoever penetrates into both is astonished to find how much likeness there is in each detail.

The growth and development of the soul is more important than power and glory.

The ideal, after all, is true than the real: for the ideal is the eternal element in perishable things.

Cleverness is serviceable for everything, sufficient for nothing.

There is only one way of not hating those who do us wrong, and that is by doing them good.

It is by teaching that we teach ourselves, by relating that we observe, by affirming that we examine, by showing that we look, by writing that we think, by pumping that we draw water into the well.