The only wealth is life.
It is not enough to be busy. So are the ants. The question is: What are we busy about?
Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes.
Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in.
The man who is dissatisfied with himself, what can he do?
Only the traveling is good which reveals to me the value of home and enables me to enjoy it better.
Superfluous wealth can buy superfluities only. Money is not required to buy one necessary of the soul.
I have no doubt that it is a part of the destiny of the human race, in its gradual improvement, to leave off eating animals, as surely as the savage tribes have left off eating each other when they came in contact with the more civilized.
You cannot dream yourself into a character you must hammer and forge yourself into one.
There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion.
Merry Christmas! the man threatened.
If animals could speak, the dog would be a blundering outspoken fellow; but the cat would have the rare grace of never saying a word too much.
If thou rise with an Appetite, thou art sure never to sit down without one.
Life is a progress, and not a station.
Some natures are too good to be spoiled by praise.
It is a curious sensation: the sort of pain that goes mercifully beyond our powers of feeling. When your heart is broken, your boats are burned: nothing matters any more. It is the end of happiness and the beginning of peace.
The death of a dear friend, wife, brother, lover, which seemed nothing but privation, somewhat later assumes the aspect of a guide or genius; for it commonly operates revolutions in our way of life, terminates an epoch of infancy or of youth which was waiting to be closed, breaks up a wonted occupation, or a household, or style of living, and allows the formation of new ones more friendly to the growth of character.
The disciplined are free.
When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.
There is a sort of jealousy which needs very little fire; it is hardly a passion, but a blight bred in the cloudy, damp despondency of uneasy egoism.
The lofty pine is oftenest shaken by the winds; High towers fall with a heavier crash; And the lightning strikes the highest mountain.
The trade of advertising is now so near perfection that it is not easy to propose any improvement. But as every art ought to be exercised in due subordination to the public good, I cannot but propose it as a moral question to these masters of the public ear, whether they do not sometimes play too wantonly with our passions.
