The look of a king is itself a deed.

The darkness of death is like the evening twilight; it makes all objects appear more lovely to the dying.

Without God there is for mankind no purpose, no goal, no hope, only a wavering future, an eternal dread of every darkness.

Despair is the only genuine atheism.

God is an unutterable sigh, planted in the depths of the soul.

The words that a father speaks to his children in the privacy of home are not heard by the world, but, as in whispering galleries, they are clearly heard at the end, and by posterity.

Memory, wit, fancy, acuteness, cannot grow young again in old age, but the heart can.