The heart forgets its sorrow and ache.

It is the privilege of genius that life never grows common place, as it does for the rest of us.

I who still pray at morning and at eve Thrice in my life perhaps have truly prayed, Thrice stirred below conscious self Have felt that perfect disenthrallment which is God.

Silence is sorrow's best food.

It is by presence of mind in untried emergencies that the native metal of man is tested.

One thorn of experience is worth a whole wilderness of warning.

Men have their intellectual ancestry, and the likeness of some one of them is forever unexpectedly flashing out in the features of a descendant, it may be after a gap of several centuries. In the parliament of the present every man represents a constituency of the past.