Nature refuses to sympathize with our sorrow. She seems not to have provided for, but by a thousand contrivances against it.

It is remarkable, but on the whole, perhaps, not to be lamented, that the world is so unkind to a new book. Any distinguished traveler who comes to our shores is likely to get more dinners and speeches of welcome than he can well dispose of, but the best books, if noticed at all, meet with coldness and suspicion, or, what is worse, gratuitous, off-hand criticism.

Every path but your own is the path of fate. Keep on your own track, then.

The morning, which is the most memorable season of the day, is the awakening hour. Then there is least somnolence in us; and for an hour, at least, some part of us awakes which slumbers all the rest of the day and night... All memorable events, I should say, transpire in morning time and in a morning atmosphere. The Vedas say, “All intelligences awake with the morning.

We need the tonic of wildness.

I believe that it is in my power to elevate myself this very hour above the common level of my life.

Nothing is so much to be feared as fear.