Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.

A single conversation across the table with a wise man is better than ten years mere study of books.

No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.

In ourselves are triumph and defeat.

In the mouths of many men soft words are like roses that soldiers put into the muzzles of their muskets on holidays.

The student has his Rome, his Florence, his whole glowing Italy, within the four walls of his library. He has in his books the ruins of an antique world and the glories of a modern one.

I am weary of your quarrels, Weary of your wars and bloodshed, Weary of your prayers for vengeance, Of your wranglings and dissensions