A man is old when he can pass an apple orchard and not remember the stomachache.

Not failure, but low aim, is crime.

It is singular how impatient men are with overpraise of others, how patient of overpraise of themselves; and yet the one does them no injury, while the other may be their ruin.

Over our manhood bend the skies; Against our fallen and traitor lives The great winds utter prophecies; With our faint hearts the mountain strives, Its arms outstretched, the druid wood Waits with its benedicite And to our age’s drowsy blood Still shouts the inspiring sea.

Mishaps are like knives, that either serve us or cut us, as we grasp them by the blade or the handle.

Worshippers of light ancestral make the present light a crime.

If I were asked what book is better than a cheap book, I should answer that there is one book better than a cheap book, - and that is a book honestly come by.