We can never judge a soul above the high water mark of our own.

The value of ourselves is but the value of our melancholy and our disquiet.

At every crossroads on the path that leads to the future, tradition has placed 10,000 men to guard the past.

Brave old-flowers! Wall-flowers, Gilly flowers, Stocks! For even as the field-flowers, from which a trifle, a ray of beauty, a drop of perfume, divides them, they have charming names, the softest in the language; and each of them, like tiny, art-less ex-votos, or like medals bestowed by the gratitude of men, proudly bears three or four.

Do we not all spend the greater part of our lives under the shadow of an event that has not yet come to pass?.

Each man has to seek out his own special aptitude for a higher life in the midst of the humble and inevitable reality of daily existence. Than this, there can be no nobler aim in life.

The living are just the dead on holiday