He is not dead, this friend; not dead, Gone some few, trifling steps ahead, And nearer to the end; So that you, too, once past the bend, Shall meet again, as face to face, this friend You fancy dead.

Although I may express myself with some degree of pleasantry the purport of my words is entirely serious.

If a man lives to any considerable age, it can not be denied that he laments his imprudences, but I notice he often laments his youth a deal more bitterly and with a more genuine intonation.

Little do ye know your own blessedness; for to travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive, and the true success is to labour.

To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive.

To be feared of a thing and yet to do it, is what makes the prettiest kind of a man.

Anyone can carry his burden, however heavy, until nightfall. Anyone can do his work, however hard, for one day. Anyone can live sweetly, patiently, lovingly, purely, until the sun goes down. And this is all that life really means.