Console yourself, dear man and brother; whatever you may be sure of, be sure at least of this, that you are dreadfully like other people. Human nature has a much greater genius for sameness than for originality.

And blessed are the horny hands of toil.

Books are the bees which carry the quickening pollen from one to another mind.

Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how.

Some kind of pace may be got out of the eeriest jade by the near prospect of oats; but the thoroughbred has the spur in his blood.

A weed is no more than a flower in disguise, Which is seen through at once, if love give a man eyes.

Old events have modern meanings; only that survives of past history which finds kindred in all hearts and lives.