Once in a century a man may be ruined or made insufferable by praise. But surely once in a minute something generous dies for want of it.

His face was filled with broken commandments.

But he has gone, A nation's memory and veneration, Among the radiant, ever venturing on, Somewhere, with morning, as such spirits will.

People who leave their own time out of their work cannot be surprised if their time fails to find them interesting.

Off Cape Horn there are but two kinds of weather, neither one of them a pleasant kind.

Man's body is faulty, his mind untrustworthy, but his imagination has made him remarkable.

Love is a flame to set the will on fire