Sincerity is impossible, unless it pervade the whole being, and the pretence of it saps the very foundation of character.
Through aisles of long-drawn centuries my spirit walks in thought.
Attention is the stuff that memory is made of, and memory is accumulated genius.
That cause is strong which has, not a multitude, but one strong man behind it.
Not suffering, but faint heart, is worst of woes.
Evil springs up, and flowers, and bears no seed, And feeds the green earth with its swift decay, Leaving it richer for the growth of truth.