The world is all gates, all opportunities, strings of tension waiting to be struck.
People do not seem to realize that their opinion of the world is also a confession of character.
Our admiration of the antique is not admiration of the old, but of the natural.
Our best thoughts come from others.
Our chief want is someone who will inspire us to be what we know we could be.
Our faith comes in moments; our vice is habitual.
Our greatest glory is not in never failing, but in rising up every time we fail.
There are as many pillows of illusion as flakes in a snow-storm. We wake from one dream into another dream.
Power and speed be hands and feet.
The revelation of thought takes men out of servitude into freedom.
O Day of days when we can read! The reader and the book, either without the other is naught.
People only see what they are prepared to see.
People seem not to see that their opinion of the world is also a confession of character.
People that seem so glorious are all show; underneath they are like everyone else.
People with great gifts are easy to find, but symmetrical and balanced ones never.