It is quite beyond me how anyone can believe God speaks to us in books and stories. If the world does not directly reveal to us our relationship to it, if our hearts fail to tell us what we owe ourselves and others, we shall assuredly not learn it from books, which are at best designed but to give names to our errors.

All that is noble is in itself of a quiet nature, and appears to sleep until it is aroused and summoned forth by contrast.

Each ten years of a man's life has its own fortunes, its own hopes, its own desires.

The day is committed to error and floundering; success and achievement are matters of long range.

Flowers are the beautiful hieroglyphics of nature with which she indicates how much she loves us.

If you must tell me your opinions, tell me what you believe in. I have plenty of doubts of my own.

I wait for the morning of my tears