As small letters hurt the sight, so do small matters him that is too much intent upon them; they vex and stir up anger, which begets an evil habit in him in reference to greater affairs.

The mind is not a vessel to be filled but a fire to be kindled.

Custom is almost a second nature.

Silence at the proper season is wisdom, and better than any speech.

The measure of a man is the way he bears up under misfortune.

Among real friends there is no rivalry or jealousy of one another, but they are satisfied and contented alike whether they are equal or one of them is superior.

A healer of others, himself diseased.