We often fancy that we suffer from ingratitude, while in reality we suffer from self-love.

The writing of the wise are the only riches our posterity cannot squander.

Those who are quite satisfied sit still and do nothing; those who are not quite satisfied are the sole benefactors of the world.

Death stands above me, whispering low I know not what into my ear; Of his strange language all I know Is, there is not a word of fear.

We listen to those whom we know to be of the same opinion as ourselves, and we call them wise for being of it; but we avoid such as differ from us.

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife. Nature I loved and, next to Nature, Art: I warm'd both hands before the fire of life; It sinks, and I am ready to depart.