“The paths of virtue, though seldom those of worldly greatness, are always those of pleasantness and peace.”

A sinful heart makes feeble hand.

Fortune may raise up or abuse the ordinary mortal, but the sage and the soldier should have minds beyond her control.

He that climbs the tall tree has won right to the fruit, He that leaps the wide gulf should prevail in his suit.

November’s sky is chill and drear, November’s leaf is red and sear.

There never will exist anything permanently noble and excellent in the character which is a stranger to resolute self-denial.

War is the only game in which both sides lose.

Welcome as the flowers in May.

Tears are the softening showers which cause the seed of heaven to spring up in the human heart.

Cats are a very mysterious kind of folk. There is always more passing in their minds than we are aware of.

Treason seldom dwells with courage.

Come he slow or come he fast it is but death that comes at last.

We build statues out of snow, and weep to see them melt.

I was born a Scotsman and a bare one. Therefore I was born to fight my way in the world.

I will tear this folly from my heart, though every fibre bleed as I rend it away!

It is the privilege of tale-tellers to open their story in an inn, the free rendezvous of all travellers, and where the humour of each displays itself, without ceremony or restraint.

It is wonderful what strength of purpose and boldness and energy of will are roused by the assurance that we are doing our duty.