“Some day you will find out that there is far more happiness in another’s happiness than in your own.”

A courage which looks easy & yet is rare; the courage of a teacher repeating day after day the same lessons – the least rewarded of all forms of courage.

Poetry is only born after painful journeys into the vast regions of thought.

Women are happy to possess a man whom all women covet.

The boor covers himself, the rich man or the fool adorns himself, and the elegant man gets dressed.

Temperament is the thermometer of character.

Hope is a light diet, but very stimulating.

A man is a poor creature compared to a woman.

Great minds always tend to see virtue in misfortune.

God is the poet; men are but the actors. The great dramas of earth were written in heaven.

Love is the poetry of the senses.

Life cannot go on without much forgetting.

It is easy to sit up and take notice, What is difficult is getting up and taking action.

Noble hearts are neither jealous nor afraid because jealousy spells doubt and fear spells pettiness.

Women, when they have made a sheep of a man, always tell him that he is a lion with a will of iron.

Give to a wounded heart seclusion; consolation nor reason ever effected anything in such a case.

Want him to be more of a man? Try being more of a woman!

I have a lot of money stashed away, but I do live my life from day to day.

We have become ninety-nine percent money mad. The method of living at home modestly and within our income, laying a little by systematically for the proverbial rainy day which is due to come, can almost be listed among the lost arts.

My only home are the daydreams I dream.

He that hath light within their own breast, may sit in the centre and enjoy bright day.

Never a day passes but that I do myself the honor to commune with some of nature’s varied forms.

Full little knowest thou that hast not tried, What hell it is in suing long to bide: To loose good dayes, that might be better spent; To waste long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow; To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow.

Though leaves are many, the root is one; Through all the lying days of my youth I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun Now I may wither into the truth.

Nowhere else than upon the sea do the days, weeks, and months fall away quicker into the past. They seem to be left astern as easily as the light air-bubbles in the swirls of the ship’s wake.