He who walks alone, waits for no-one.

While my friend was my friend, he flattered me, and I never heard the truth from him. When he became my enemy, he shot it to me on a poisoned arrow.

When our life ceases to be inward and private, conversation degenerates into mere gossip.

It is as hard to see one's self as to look backwards without turning around.

There can be no very black melancholy to him who lives in the midst of Nature and has his senses still.

In the midst of this chopping sea of civilized life, such are the clouds and storms and quicksands and thousand-and-one items to be allowed for, that a man has to live, if he would not founder and go to the bottom and not make his port at all, by dead reckoning, and he must be a great calculator indeed who succeeds. Simplify, simplify.

Only what is thought, said, or done at a certain rare coincidence is good.