This world is all vanity. It is a tempest hurling us from one sorrow to another.

The sea is as desolate and barren as it is fertile and life-giving. It is cold and dismal, yet bold and spirited. Sometimes imperious and conquering, other times gentle and meek. But it is always mysterious. Those mysteries hold many secrets. One has but to listen and watch to discover them

Life is like the sea. Its tides and currents sometimes take a man to distant shores that he never dreamed existed

That mortal man who hath more of joy than sorrow in him, that mortal man cannot be true — not true, or undeveloped. With books the same. The truest of all men was the Man of Sorrows, and the truest of all books is Solomon’s, and Ecclesiastes is the fine hammered steel of woe. “All is vanity.” ALL. This wilful world hath not got hold of unchristian Solomon’s wisdom yet.

Weak men cannot handle power. It will either crush them, or they will use it to crush others

There is no honor in cruelty.