All work, even cotton-spinning, is noble; work is alone noble.

The coldest word was once a glowing new metaphor.

There is in man a higher than love of happiness; he can do without happiness, and instead thereof find blessedness.

The genuine essence of truth never dies.

He who could foresee affairs three days in advance would be rich for thousands of years.

This world, after all our science and sciences, is still a miracle; wonderful, inscrutable, magical and more, to whosoever will think of it.

Innumerable are the illusions and legerdemain-tricks of custom: but of all of these, perhaps the cleverest is her knack of persuading us that the miraculous, by simple repetition, ceases to be miraculous.