See how he cowers and sneaks, how vaguely all the day he fears, not being immortal nor divine, but the slave and prisoner of his own opinion of himself, a fame won by his own deeds. Public opinion is a weak tyrant compared with our own private opinion. What a man thinks of himself, that it is which determines, or rather indicates, his fate.

Every sentence is the result of a long probation.

The cart before the horse is neither beautiful nor useful.

Every man casts a shadow; not his body only, but his imperfectly mingled spirit. This is his grief. Let him turn which way he will, it falls opposite to the sun; short at noon, long at eve. Did you never see it?

The dry grasses are not dead for me. A beautiful form has as much life at one season as another.

I have learned that the swiftest traveller is he that goes afoot.

Maturity is when all of your mirrors turn into windows.