The man who in this world can keep the whiteness of his soul is not likely to lose it in any other

Every man's road in life is marked by the graves of his personal liking

I go into my library and all history unrolls before me

The saddest thing that befalls a soul Is when it loses faith in God and woman

We bury love Forgetfulness grows over it like grass That is a thing to weep for, not the dead

To be occasionally quoted is the only fame I care for.

Death is the ugly fact which Nature has to hide, and she hides it well

Christmas is the day that holds all time together

Books are a finer world within the world

Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition