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.

As life runs on, the road grows strange with faces new - and near the end. The milestones into headstones change, Neath every one a friend.

There are two kinds of weakness, that which breaks and that which bends.

Toward no crimes have men shown themselves so cold- bloodedly cruel as in punishing differences of belief.

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

Truly there is a tide in the affairs of men; but there is no gulf-stream setting forever in one direction.

True scholarship consists in knowing not what things exist, but what they mean; it is not memory but judgment.