“It is not flesh and blood, but heart which makes us fathers and sons.”

Virtue is no empty echo.

Wine invents nothing; it only tattles.

The jest loses its point when he who makes it is the first to laugh.

Forgiveness is the finding again of a lost possession.

If we do not find anything very pleasant, at least we shall find something new.

In a narrow circle the mind contracts. Man grows with his expanded needs.

The future comes slowly, the present flies and the past stands still forever.

What reason, like the careful ant, draws laboriously together, the wind of accident sometimes collects in a moment.

What the inner voice says will not disappoint the hoping soul.

Even the weak become strong when they are united.

Toil of science swells the wealth of art.

Soon is the struggle past, and to the earth, To the eternal sun, I render back These atoms, joined in me for pain and pleasure.

Power is the most persuasive rhetoric.

The storm is master. Man, as a ball, is tossed twixt winds and billows.

Arrow-swift the present sweepeth, and motionless forever stands the past.

Worthless is the nation that does not gladly stake it’s all on its honor.