Time is a trust, and for every minute of it you will have to account.

Happy indeed is the naturalist: to him the seasons come round like old friends; to him the birds sing: as he walks along, the flowers stretch out from the hedges, or look up from the ground, and as each year fades away, he looks back on a fresh store of happy memories.

The veil is slowly rising, but as regards innumerable questions we must be content to remain in ignorance.

Many of the greatest men have owed their success to industry rather than to cleverness.

Your character will be what you yourself choose to make it.

Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer's day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.

Time is a trust, and for every minute of it you will have to account.