There is but one art, to omit.

By the time a man gets well into his seventies his continued existence is a mere miracle.

To miss the joy is to miss everything.

There is but one art, to omit.

A knowledge that another has felt as we have felt, and seen things not much otherwise than we have seen them, will continue to the end to be one of life's choicest blessings.

Things looked at patiently from one side after another generally end by showing a side that is beautiful.

It is one of the worst things of sentiment that the voice grows to be more important than the words, and the speaker than that what is spoken.