Nothing is more beautiful than cheerfulness in an old face.

He thought of the mouldering child, which laid its withered thin arms around his soul, as if it were his own, and to whom Death had given as much as a god gave to Endymion, — sleep, eternal youth, and immortality.

A variety of nothing is superior to a monotony of something.

It is not the end of joy that makes old age so sad, but the end of hope.

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.

Individuality is to be preserved and respected everywhere, as the root of everything good.

What Cicero said of men-that they are like wines, age souring the bad, and bettering the good-we can say of misfortune, that it has the same effect upon them.