To begin, begin.
One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.
Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.
For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.
Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore; Plain living and high thinking are no more.
Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.
In modern business it is not the crook who is to be feared most, it is the honest man who doesn’t know what he is doing.
What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars.
I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.