The duty of labor is written on a man's body: in the stout muscle of the arm,, and the delicate machinery of the hand.

What a joy is there in a good book, writ by some great master of thought, who breaks into beauty as in summer the meadow into grass and dandelions and violets, with geraniums and manifold sweetness.

Greatness is its own torment.

Want and wealth equally harden the human heart, as frost and fire are both alien to the human flesh. Famine and gluttony alike drive away nature from the heart of man.

Justice is the idea of God, the ideal of man, the rule of conduct writ in the nature of mankind.

Science is the natural ally of religion.

In all the world there is nothing so remarkable as a great man, nothing so rare, nothing which so well repays study.