The echo is, to some extent, an original sound, and therein is the magic and charm of it. It is not merely a repetition of what was worth repeating in the bell, but partly the voice of the wood; the same trivial words and notes sung by a wood-nymph.

The morning wind forever blows, the poem of creation is uninterrupted; but few are the ears to hear it.

We must take root; send out some little fibre at least, even every winter day.

If you give money, spend yourself with it.

Why should we live with such hurry and waste of life? We are determined to be starved before we are hungry.

A man sits as many risks as he runs.

Things don't change. We change.