Philosophy dwells aloft in the Temple of Science, the divinity of its inmost shrine; her dictates descend among men, but she herself descends not : whoso would behold her must climb with long and laborious effort, nay, still linger in the forecourt, till manifold trial have proved him worthy of admission into the interior solemnities.

In the huge mass of evil as it rolls and swells, there is ever some good working toward deliverance and triumph.

My books are friends that never fail me.

Of our thinking it is but the upper surface that we shape into articulate thought; underneath the region of argument and conscious discourse lies the region of meditation.

Histories are a kind of distilled newspapers.

All work is as seed sown; it grows and spreads, and sows itself anew.

The barrenest of all mortals is the sentimentalist.