Without passion man is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock of the iron before it can give forth its spark.

Man becomes man only by his intelligence, but he is man only by his heart.

Our life is nothing, it is true, but our life is divine. A breath of nature annihilates us, but we surpass nature in penetrating far beyond her vast phantasmagoria to the changeless and the eternal.

It is work which gives flavor to life.

It is not what he had, or even what he does which expresses the worth of a man, but what he is.

Tears are the symbol of the inability of the soul to restrain its emotion and retain its self command.

Time and space are fragments of the infinite for the use of finite creatures.