That hour in the life of a man when first the help of humanity fails him, and he learns that in his obscurity and indigence humanity holds him a dog and no man: that hour is a hard one, but not the hardest. There is still another hour which follows, when he learns that in his infinite comparative minuteness and abjectness, the gods do likewise despise him, and own him not of their clan.

Thou wine art the friend of the friendless, though a foe to all.

In what rapt ether sails the world, of which the weariest will never weary?

Only the man who says no is free

Toil is man's allotment; toil of brain, or toil of hands, or a grief that's more than either, the grief and sin of idleness.

See how elastic our prejudices grow when once love comes to bend them.

A thing may be incredible and still be true; sometimes it is incredible because it is true.