There is but one art, to omit.

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.

Every heart that has beat strongly and cheerfully has left a hopeful impulse behind it in the world, and bettered the tradition of mankind.

-I am not sure whether he's sane. -If there's any doubt about the matter, he is.

And if a man reads very hard, as the old anecdote reminds us, he will have little time for thought.

We live in an ascending scale when we live happily, one thing leading to another in an endless series.

To be wholly devoted to some intellectual exercise is to have succeeded in life.