Wisdom is a sacred communion.

If a writer wrote merely for his time, I would have to break my pen and throw it away.

The sunshine was delightful, the foliage gently astir, more from the activity of birds than from the breeze. One gallant little bird, doubtless lovelorn, was singing his heart out at the top of a tall tree.

There comes an hour when protest no longer suffices; after philosophy there must be action; the strong hand finishes what the idea has sketched.

The earth is a great piece of stupidity.

I advance in life, I grow more simple, and I become more and more patriotic for humanity.

When grace is joined with wrinkles, it is adorable. There is an unspeakable dawn in happy old age.