“Sunlight is painting.”

And there I sat, long long ago, waiting for the world to know me.

She had not known the weight until she felt the freedom.

To do nothing is the way to be nothing.

I have come to see the nonsense of attempting to describe fine scenery. There is no such possibility. If scenery could be adequately reproduced in words, there would have been no need of God’s making it in reality.

No man for any considerable period can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.

This above all: be true, be true, be true.

Ugliness without tact is horrible.

Easy reading is damn hard writing.

The greatest obstacle to being heroic is the doubt whether one may going to prove one’s self a fool.

Life is made up of marble and mud.

Nobody will use other people’s experience, nor have any of his own till it is too late to use it.

This world owes all its forward impulses to people ill at ease.

Let men tremble to win the hand of woman, unless they win along with it the utmost passion of her heart!

Every individual has a place to fill in the world and is important in some respect whether he chooses to be so or not.

A hero cannot be a hero unless in a heroic world.

When scattered clouds are resting on the bosoms of hills, it seems as if one might climb into the heavenly region, earth being so intermixed with sky, and gradually transformed into it.