Are not our greatest men as good as lost? The men that walk daily among us, warming us, feeding us, walk shrouded in darkness, mere mythic men.

The only happiness a brave person ever troubles themselves in asking about, is happiness enough to get their work done.

Acorns are planted silently by some unnoticed breeze.

The true epic of our times is not "Arm's and the Man," but "Tools and the Man"--an infinitely wider kind of epic.

If time is precious, no book that will not improve by repeated readings deserves to be read at all.

Nothing that was worthy in the past departs; no truth or goodness realized by man ever dies, or can die.

Rare benevolence, the minister of God.