The body is a house of many windows: there we all sit, showing ourselves and crying on the passers-by to come and love us.

There is no progress whatever. Everything is just the same as it was thousands, and tens of thousands, of years ago. The outward form changes. The essence does not change.

One more touch of the bow, smell of the virginal Green - one more, and my bosom Feels new life with an ecstasy.

We are not content to pass away entirely from the scenes of our delight; we would leave, if but in gratitude, a pillar and a legend.

The saints are the sinners who keep on trying.

Perpetual devotion to what a man calls his business is only to be sustained by perpetual neglect of many other things.

Keep busy at something: a busy person never has time to be unhappy.