The stoicism that comes of endurance has something of death in it.

There are half hours that dilate to the importance of centuries.

We cannot leave the expression of our lives to those better qualified than we are, however dear they may be.

To see men admitting that you are what you believe yourself to be, is one of the triumphs of existence.

One meets and wakes you to vivid life in an immortal hour. Thousands could not do it through eternity.

There should be a colossal mother going about the world to turn men over her lap and give them the slipper. They pine for it.

Nature protects us in our uttermost losses by a density through which conviction is slow to penetrate.