To be seventy years old is like climbing the Alps. You reach a snow-crowned summit, and see behind you the deep valley stretching miles and miles away, and before you other summits higher and whiter, which you may have strength to climb, or may not. Then you sit down and meditate and wonder which it will be.

What is time? The shadow on the dial, the striking of the clock, the running of the sand, day and night, summer and winter, months, years, centuries-these are but arbitrary and outward signs, the measure of Time, not Time itself. Time is the Life of the Soul.

Midnight! the outpost of advancing day! The frontier town and citadel of night!

The spring came suddenly, bursting upon the world as a child bursts into a room, with a laugh and a shout and hands full of flowers.

Youth comes but once a life time. Perhaps, but it remains strong in many for their entire lives.

Most people would succeed in small things if they were not troubled with great ambitions.

I stay a little longer, as one stays, to cover up the embers that still burn.