It is not a great Xerxes army of words, but a compact Greek ten thousand that march safely down to posterity.

What men call luck Is the prerogative of valiant souls, The fealty life pays its rightful kings.

Moral supremacy is the only one that leaves monuments, and not ruins, behind it.

Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how.

Sincerity is impossible, unless it pervade the whole being, and the pretence of it saps the very foundation of character.

Large charity doth never soil, but only whitens soft white hands.

I willingly confess to so great a partiality for trees as tempts me to respect a man in exact proportion to his respect for them.