A man is not idle because he is absorbed in thought. There is a visible labor and an invisible labor.

At the age of 20, we don't care what the world thinks of us; at 30, we worry about what it is thinking of us; at 40, we discover that it wasn't thinking of us at all.

A garden to walk in and immensity to dream in--what more could he ask? A few flowers at his feet and above him the stars.

In the French language, there is a great gulf between prose and poetry; in English, there is hardly any difference. It is a splendid privilege of the great literary languages Greek, Latin, and French that they possess a prose. English has not this privilege. There is no prose in English.

The omnipotence of evil has never resulted in anything but fruitless efforts. Our thoughts always escape from whoever tries to smother them.

Forty is the old age of youth; fifty the youth of old age.