We do not die wholly at our deaths: we have mouldered away gradually long before. Faculty after faculty, interest after interest, attachment after attachment disappear: we are torn from ourselves while living.

Envy is a littleness of soul, which cannot see beyond a certain point, and if it does not occupy the whole space feels itself excluded.

Who likes not his business, his business likes not him.

I like a person who knows his own mind and sticks to it; who sees at once what, in given circumstances, is to be done, and does it.

To be remembered after we are dead, is but poor recompense for being treated with contempt while we are living.

The chain of habit coils itself around the heart like a serpent, to gnaw and stifle it.

Happy are they who live in the dream of their own existence, and see all things in the light of their own minds; who walk by faith and hope; to whom the guiding star of their youth still shines from afar, and into whom the spirit of the world has not entered! They have not been "hurt by the archers", nor has the iron entered their souls. The world has no hand on them.