Animals are nothing but the portrayal of our virtues and vices made manifest to our eyes, the visible reflections of our souls.

Poetry contains philosophy as the soul contains reason.

He had slipped, climbed, rolled, searched, walked, persevered, that is all. Such is the secret of all triumphs.

Nature, like a kind and smiling mother, lends herself to our dreams and cherishes our fancies.

To be a saint is the exception; to be a just person is the rule. Err, stumble, commit sin, but be one of the just.

Certain thoughts are prayers. There are moments when, whatever be the attitude of the body, the soul is on its knees.

There is a sacred horror about everything grand. It is easy to admire mediocrity and hills; but whatever is too lofty, a genius as well as a mountain, an assembly as well as a masterpiece, seen too near, is appalling.