Labour is man's great function, his peculiar distinction, his privilege. Can he not think so? Can he not see, that from being an animal to eat and drink and sleep, to become a worker... He is nothing, he can be nothing, he can achieve nothing, fulfil nothing, without working.

How many a knot of mystery and misunderstanding would be untied by one word spoken in simple and confiding truth of heart! How many a solitary place would be made glad if love were there, and how many a dark dwelling would be filled with light!

The less we parade our misfortunes the more sympathy we command.

Every relation to mankind, of hate or scorn or neglect, is full of vexation and torment.

We may neglect the wrongs which we receive, but be careful to rectify those which we are the cause of to others.

There is nothing to do with men [and women] but to love them; to contemplate their virtues with admiration, their faults with pity and forbearance, and their injuries with forgiveness.

What is there glorious in the world, that is not the product of labor, either of the body or of the mind?