Man has no greater enemy than himself.

Continued work and application form my soul’s nourishment. So soon as I commenced to rest and relax I should cease to live.

An equal doom clipp’d Time’s blest wings of peace.

From thought to thought, from mountain peak to mountain. Love leads me on; for I can never still My trouble on the world’s well beaten ways.

Books can warm the heart with friendly words and counsel, entering into a close relationship with us which is articulate and alive.

Who over-refines his argument brings himself to grief.

Five enemies of peace inhabit with us – avarice, ambition, envy, anger, and pride; if these were to be banished, we should infallibly enjoy perpetual peace.

What name to call thee by, O virgin fair, I know not, for thy looks are not of earth And more than mortal seems thy countenances.

Often on earth the gentlest heart is fain To feed and banquet on another’s woe.

Books never pall on me. They discourse with us, they take counsel with us, and are united to us by a certain living chatty familiarity. And not only does each book inspire the sense that it belongs to its readers, but it also suggests the name of others, and one begets the desire of the other.