I suspect that, if you should go to the end of the world, you would find somebody there going farther, as if just starting for home at sundown, and having a last word before he drove off.

For in the wood these golden days Some leaf obeys its Maker's call. And through their hollow aisles it plays With delicate touch the prelude of the Fall.

If you see a man approaching you with the obvious intent of doing you good, you should run for your life.

Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth.

All that man has to say or do that can possibly concern mankind is in some shape or other to tell the story of his love-to sing, and, if he is fortunate and keeps alive, he will be forever in love.

Pity the man who has a character to support - it is worse than a large family - he is silent poor indeed.

When we walk, we naturally go to the fields and woods: what would become of us, if we walked only in a garden or a mall?