“Heaven lent you a soul, Earth will lend a grave.”

Excellence in art is largely the result of attention to minutiae, and–prayer.

Truth, like the sun, submits to be obscured; but, like the sun, only for a time.

The grandest of all laws is the law of progressive development. Under it, in the wide sweep of things, men grow wiser as they grow older, and societies better.

We should round every day of stirring action with an evening of thought. We learn nothing of our experience except we muse upon it.

In politics, merit is rewarded by the possessor being raised, like a target, to a position to be fired at.

Men, like musical instruments, seem made to be played upon.

A mother is the best friend God ever gave.

It is only an error of judgment to make a mistake, but it argues an infirmity of character to adhere to it when discovered.

Words of praise, indeed, are almost as necessary to warm a child into a genial life as acts of kindness and affection. Judicious praise is to children what the sun is to flowers.

It is our relation to circumstances that determines their influence upon us.

All men are alike in their lower natures; it is in their higher characters that they differ.

It is ever the invisible that is the object of our profoundest worship. With the lover it is not the seen but the unseen that he muses upon.

It is with a company as it is with a punch, everything depends upon the ingredients of which it in composed.

Enthusiasm is the inspiration of everything great.

There are some kinds of men who cannot pass their time alone; they are the flails of occupied people.There are few wild beasts more to be dreaded than a communicative man having nothing to communicate.

Like the withered roses of a once gay garland, the feelings of youth command in age a melancholy interest.

The Deads-men, the Deadmen, the Undeads-men, the Undeadmen, the Rots, the Rotters, the Dirts, the Dirty Ones, the Grayboys, the Eaten Brains, the Eating Brains, the Mersey Beaters, the Mersey Beaten, the Bloodless, the Graves, the Headstones, and the Liverpools of Blood.

She realized now wrong she’d been; the pali wasn’t a headstone and Kalaupapa wasn’t a grave.

A man and still more the woman, who can be accused either of doing “what nobody does,” or of not doing “what everybody does,” is the subject of as much depreciatory remark as if he or she had committed some grave moral delinquency.

Life is the journey between darkness of the womb and darkness of the grave.

Wealth remains behind on earth while ibadaah accompanies you into the grave.

I got an attitude, that’s rude because I walked over Elvis’ grave in some blue suede shoes.

While she cut the mushrooms, she cried more than she had at the grave.

On my gravestone, I want it to say, “I told you I was sick.”