Labor is the only prayer that Nature answers.

Talent has the four seasons: spring, that is to say, the sowing of the seeds; summer, growth; autumn, the harvest; winter, intellectual death. But there is now and then a genius who has no winter, and, no matter how many years he may live, on the blossom of his thought no snow falls. Genius has the climate of perpetual growth.

Music was born of love. Had there never been any human affection, there never could have been uttered a strain of music.

The Church has always been willing to swap off treasures in heaven for cash down.

In the republic of mediocrity, genius is dangerous.

Kindness is the sunshine in which virtue grows.

If, with all the time at my disposal, with all the wealth of the resources of this vast universe, to do with as I will, I could not produce a better scheme of life than now prevails, I would be ashamed of my efforts and consider my work a humiliating failure.