We should be blessed if we lived in the present always, and took advantage of every accident that befell us, like the grass which confesses the influence of the slightest dew that falls on it; and did not spend our time in atoning for the neglect of past opportunities, which we call doing our duty.

The moles nested in my cellar, nibbling every third potato, and making a snug bed even there of some hair left after plastering and of brown paper; for even the wildest animals love comfort and warmth as well as man, and they survive the winter only because they are so careful to secure them.

Do what nobody else can do for you. Omit to do anything else.

Thought is the sculptor who can create the person you want to be.

How shall we account for our pursuits, if they are original? We get the language with which to describe our various lives out of acommon mint.

Who is old enough to have learned from experience?

Here or nowhere is our heaven.