Time is, after all, the greatest of poets; and the sons of Memory stand a better chance of being the heirs of Fame.

Who is it needs such flawless shafts as fate? What archer of his arrows is so choice, or hits the white so surely?

It may be glorious to write Thoughts that shall glad the two or three High souls, like those far stars that come in sight Once in a century.

I have always been of the mind that in a democracy manners are the only effective weapons against the bowie-knife.

Whatever you may be sure of, be sure of this, that you are dreadfully like other people.

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

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