I'll teach my boy the sweetest things; I'll teach him how the owlet sings.

The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an angel's wing.

[Mathematics] is an independent world created out of pure intelligence.

Before us lay a painful road, And guidance have I sought in duteous love From Wisdom's heavenly Father. Hence hath flowed Patience, with trust that, whatsoe'er the way Each takes in this high matter, all may move Cheered with the prospect of a brighter day.

The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.

To character and success, two things, contradictory as they may seem, must go together... humble dependence on God and manly reliance on self.

Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room; And hermits are contented with their cells.