Skepticism . . . is not intellectual only it is moral also, a chronic atrophy and disease of the whole soul.

Neither in tailoring nor in legislating does man proceed by mere accident.

O thou that pinest in the imprisonment of the Actual, and criest bitterly to the gods for a kingdom wherein to rule and create, know this for a truth: the thing thou seekest is already here, "here or nowhere," couldst thou only see.

Under all speech that is good for anything there lies a silence that is better, Silence is deep as Eternity; speech is shallow as Time.

Secrecy is the element of all goodness; even virtue, even beauty is mysterious.

Who is it that loves me and will love me forever with an affection which no chance, no misery, no crime of mine can do away? It is you, my mother.

A word spoken in season, at the right moment; is the mother of ages.