Sweet moonlight, shining full and clear, Why do you light my torture here? How often have you seen me toil, Burning last drops of midnight oil. On books and papers as I read, My friend, your mournful light you shed. If only I could flee this den And walk the mountain-tops again, Through moonlit meadows make my way, In mountain caves with spirits play - Released from learning's musty cell, Your healing dew would make me well!

Willing is not enough, we must do.

I never believed in trying to do anything. Whatever I set out to do I found I had already accomplished.

We are accustomed to see men deride what they do not understand, and snarl at the good and beautiful because it lies beyond their sympathies

To make something you have to be something.

The man who masters himself is delivered from the force that binds all creatures.

Man is made by his belief. As he believes, so he is.