Extravagance is the rich man's pitfall.

O Death, what are thou? nurse of dreamless slumbers freshening the fevered flesh to a wakefulness eternal.

Well-timed silence hath more eloquence than speech.

Happiness is a roadside flower growing on the highways of usefulness; plucked, it shall wither in thy hand; passed by, it is fragrance to thy spirit. Trample the thyme beneath thy feet; be useful, be happy.

Speech is the golden harvest that followeth the flowering of thought.

I have sped by land and sea, and mingled with much people, but never yet could find a spot unsunned by human kindness.

Humility mainly becometh the converse of man with his Maker.