That which we know is but little; that which we have a presentiment of is immense; it is in this direction that the poet outruns the learned man.
Interest, ambition, fortune, time, temper, love, all kill friendship.
Friendship is the ideal; friends are the reality; reality always remains far apart from the ideal.
No labor is hopeless.
It is a very rare thing for a man of talent to succeed by his talent.
We are more conscious that a person is in the wrong when the wrong concerns ourselves.