I had learned to dwell with pleasure, as a beloved daydream, on the thought of the separation of these elements.

A great part of this life consists in contemplating what we cannot cure.

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.

Wherever we are, it is but a stage on the way to somewhere else, and whatever we do, however well we do it, it is only a preparation to do something else that shall be different.

All speech, written or spoken, is a dead language, until it finds a willing and prepared hearer.

Strange indeed is the attraction of the forest for the minds of men.

No human being ever spoke of scenery for above two minutes at a time, which makes me suspect that we hear too much of it in literature.