A truth is to be known always, to be uttered sometimes.
Verily the lust for comfort murders the passion of the soul, and then walks grinning in the funeral.
Progress lies not in enhancing what is, but in advancing toward what will be.
A voice cannot carry the tongue and the lips that gave it wings. Alone must it seek the ether. And alone and without his nest shall the eagle fly across the sun.
As one's gifts increase, his friends decrease.
You often say, "I would give, but only to the deserving." The trees in your orchard say not so, nor the flocks in your pasture. They give that they may live, for to withhold is to perish.