As memory may be a paradise from which we cannot be driven, it may also be a hell from which we cannot escape.

If all were gentle and contented as sheep, all would be as feeble and helpless.

Those who believe in our ability do more than stimulate us. They create for us an atmosphere in which it becomes easier to succeed.

We are more disturbed by a calamity which threatens us than by one which has befallen us.

Women are aristocrats, and it is always the mother who makes us feel that we belong to the better sort.

Each forward step we take we leave some phantom of ourselves behind.

The highest courage is to dare to appear to be what one is