There is a savor of life and immortality in substantial fare. Like balloons, we are nothing till filled.

The easiest way of life is the best.

There's magic in the water that draws all men away form the land, that leads them over hills, down creeks and streams and rivers to the sea.

Why did the old Persians hold the sea holy? Why did the Greeks give it a separate deity, and own brother Jove? Surely all this is not without meaning. And still deeper the meaning of that story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting mild image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned. But that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is the image of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all.

Many sensible things banished from high life find an asylum among the mob.

The sun hides not the ocean, which is the dark side of this earth, and which is two thirds of this earth. So, therefore, that mortal man who hath more of joy than sorrow in him, that mortal man cannot be true-- not true, or undeveloped. With books the same. The truest of all men was the Man of Sorrows, and the truest of all books is Solomon’s, and Ecclesiastes is the fine hammered steel of woe.

The grand points in human nature are the same to-day they were a thousand years ago. The only variability in them is in expression, not in feature.