“Absence of occupation is not rest.”

A heretic, my dear sir, is a fellow who disagrees with you regarding something neither of you knows anything about.

Unless a love of virtue light the flame,

War’s a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at.

Restraining prayer, we cease to fight; Prayer keeps the Christian’s armor bright; And Satan trembles when he sees The weakest saint upon his knees.

Built God a church and laughed His word to scorn.

All we behold is miracle.

Still ending, and beginning still.

Knowledge dwells In heads replete with thoughts of other men; Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.

Remorse, the fatal egg by pleasure laid, In every bosom where her nest is made, Hatched by the beams of truth, denies him rest, And proves a raging scorpion in his breast.

Grief is itself a medicine.

Habits are soon assumed; but when we strive to strip them off, ’tis being flayed alive.

They whom truth and wisdom lead, can gather honey from a weed.

Heaven’s harmony is universal love.

What we admire we praise; and when we praise, Advance it into notice, that its worth Acknowledged, others may admire it too.

But oars alone can ne’er prevail To reach the distant coast; The breath of Heaven must swell the sail, Or all the toil is lost.

Reasoning at every step he treads, Man yet mistakes his way, Whilst meaner things, whom instinct leads, Are rarely known to stray.

… that, in a few years, all great physical constants will have been approximately estimated, and that the only occupation which will be left to men of science will be to carry these measurements to another place of decimals.

For me, a writer is already being the deuce of his mission, his occupation to society.

The measure of woman’s distaste for any part of her life lies not in the loudness of her lamentations (these are only an attempt to buy a martyr’s crown at a reduced price) but in her persistent pursuit of that occupation of which she never ceases to complain.

Winter is not a season, it’s an occupation.

Idleness and lack of occupation tend – nay are dragged – towards evil.

Blessed is the man who has some congenial work, some occupation in which he can put his heart, and which affords a complete outlet to all the forces there are in him.

Search for the truth is the noblest occupation of man; its publication is a duty.

There is no more noble occupation in the world than to assist another human being – to help someone to succeed.