“Life has not taught me to expect nothing, but she has taught me not to expect success to be the inevitable result of my endeavors.”

Wise men write many books, in words too hard to understand. But this, the purpose of our lives, the end of all our struggle, is beyond all human wisdom.

The truth is, our civilization is not Christian; it is a tragic compound of great ideal and fearful practice, of loving charity and fearful clutching of possessions.

Although nothing has come yet, something is here already.

But to punish and not to restore, that is the greatest of all offences.

This is no time to talk of hedges and fields, or the beauties of any country.

Money is to make happy the lives of children. Money is for security, and for dreams, and for hopes, and for purposes.

One day in Johannesburg, and already the tribe was being rebuilt, the house and soul being restored.

I have one great fear in my heart, that one day when they are turned to loving, they will find that we are turned to hating.

Forgive us all, for we all have trespasses.

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that’s the inheritor of our fear.

Money is for buying the fruits of the earth, of the land where you were born.

But perhaps when you were too obedient, and did not do openly what others did, and were quiet in church and hard-working at school.

And whether they do not see him there in the grass, or whether they fear to halt even a moment, but they do not wake him, they let him be.

Fear is a journey,a terrible journey, but sorrow is at least an arrival.

There is not much talking now. A silence falls upon them all.

These hills are grass-covered and rolling, and they are lovely beyond any singing of it.

Blessed is the man, who having nothing to say, abstains from giving wordy evidence of the fact.

When a man is ill nothing is so important to him as his own illness.

The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us, and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone.

Nothing makes you look older than attempting to look young.

[As] Santayana wrote, ‘Nothing requires a rarer intellectual heroism than willingness to see one’s equation written out.’

No man thinks there is much ado about nothing when the ado is about himself.

Without her presence nothing would have being, because she is the essence of the existence of the first unto the last being.

I have a sort of empty feeling; nothing in the world seems of sufficient importance to be worth the doing.