The corpse of friendship is not worth embalming.

Old friendships are like meats served up repeatedly, cold, comfortless, and distasteful. The stomach turns against them.

Great thoughts reduced to practice become great acts.

Those people who are always improving never become great. Greatness is an eminence, the ascent to which is steep and lofty, and which a man must seize on at once by natural boldness and vigor, and not by patient, wary steps.

We never do anything well till we cease to think about the manner of doing it.

There are no rules for friendship. It must be left to itself. We cannot force it any more than love.

The smallest pain in our little finger gives us more concern than the destruction of millions of our fellow beings.