The thinnest yellow light of November is more warming and exhilarating than any wine they tell of. The mite which November contributes becomes equal in value to the bounty of July.

I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by conscious endeavor.

To the sick, indeed, nature is sick, but to the well, a fountain of health.

I never yet knew the sun to be knocked down and rolled through a mud-puddle; he comes out honor-bright from behind every storm. Let us then take sides with the sun, seeing we have so much leisure.

Why will we be imposed on by antiquity?

Our actual Friends are but distant relations of those to whom we are pledged.

They can do without architecture who have no olives nor wines in the cellar.