So all that is said of the wise man by Stoic or Oriental or modern essayist, describes to each reader his own idea, describes his unattained but attainable self.

We know that madness belongs to love,--what power to paint a vile object in hues of heaven.

Many eyes go through the meadow, but few see the flowers in it

You cannot do wrong without suffering wrong.

I see that sensible men and conscientious men all over the world were of one religion of well-doing and daring.

Criticism should not be querulous and wasting, all knife and root-puller, but guiding, instructive, inspiring, a south wind, not an east wind.

There is hope in extravagance, there is none in routine.