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.

False pleasures come from without and are imperfect: happiness is internal and our own.

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

We must be careful what we read, and not, like the sailors of Ulysses, take bags of wind for sacks of treasure.

All those who love Nature she loves in return, and will richly reward, not perhaps with the good things, as they are commonly called, but with the best things of this world-not with money and titles, horses and carriages, but with bright and happy thoughts, contentment and peace of mind.

A kind word will give more pleasure than a present.

A crowd is not necessarily company, but neither need it necessarily prevent thought or disturb peace of mind.