The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living.

A mental stain can neither be blotted out by the passage of time nor washed away by any waters.

Wisdom is not only to be acquired, but enjoyed.

There is no grief which time does not lessen and soften.

In fact the whole passion ordinarily termed love (and heaven help me if I can think of any other term to apply to it) is of such exceeding triviality that I see nothing that I think comparable with it.

A home without books is a body without soul.

I prefer tongue-tied knowledge to ignorant loquacity.