. . . I was rich, if not in money, in sunny hours and summer days. . . .

Cowards suffer, heroes enjoy.

Law never made men a whit more just.

The thoughtful man becomes a hermit in the thoroughfares of the marketplace.

Can there be any greater reproach than an idle learning? Learn to split wood, at least.

We are often struck by the force and precision of style to which hard-working men, unpracticed in writing, easily attain when required to make the effort. As if plainness and vigor and sincerity, the ornaments of style, were better learned on the farm and in the workshop than in the schools. The sentences written by such rude hands are nervous and tough, like hardened thongs, the sinews of the deer, or the roots of the pine.

A man might well pray that he may not taboo or curse any portion of nature by being buried in it.