Long ago Apollo called to Aristæus, youngest of the shepherds, Saying, "I will make you keeper of my bees." Golden were the hives, and golden was the honey; golden, too, the music, Where the honey-makers hummed among the trees.

The woods would be quiet if no bird sang but the one that sang best.

You never see the stock called Happiness quoted on the exchange.

Tact is the unsaid part of what you think.

But this I know. Those who seek Him will do well to look among the poor and the lowly, the sorrowful and the oppressed.

No amount of energy will take the place of thought. A strenuous life with its eyes shut is a kind of wild insanity.

Those who would see wonderful things must often be ready to travel alone.