The babe at first feeds upon the mother's bosom, but it is always on her heart.

Now comes the mystery. (His last words)

It's not the work which kills people, it's the worry. It's not the revolution that destroys machinery it's the friction.

The real man is one who always finds excuses for others, but never excuses himself.

The sun does not shine for a few trees and flowers, but for the wide world's joy.

Hold yourself responsible for a higher standard than anybody expects of you. Never excuse yourself.