Solitude, though it may be silent as light, is like light, the mightiest of agencies; for solitude is essential to man. All men come into this world alone and leave it alone.

The whole body of the arts and sciences composes one vast machinery for the irritation and development of the human intellect.

Flowers that are so pathetic in their beauty, frail as the clouds, and in their coloring as gorgeous as the heavens, had through thousands of years been the heritage of children - honored as the jewelry of God.

It is one of the misfortunes in life that one must read thousands of books only to discover that one need not have read them.

No man will ever unfold the capacities of his own intellect who does not at least checker his life with solitude.

Even imperfection itself may have its ideal or perfect state.

Rightly it is said of utter, utter misery, that it 'cannot be remembered'; itself, being a rememberable thing, is swallowed up in its own chaos.