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.

If thou art master to thyself, circumstances shall harm thee little.

A babe in a house is a well-spring of pleasure.

Deceit and treachery skulk with hatred, but an honest spirit flieth with anger.

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

Extravagance is the rich man's pitfall.

Speech is reason's brother, and a kingly prerogative of man.