Happiness Is A Condition Of Mind Not

We Must Be Careful What We Read, And Not, Like The Sailors Of Ulysses, Take Bags Of Wind For Sacks Of Treasure.

Happy Indeed Is The Naturalist: To Him The Seasons Come Round Like Old Friends; To Him The Birds Sing: As He Walks Along, The Flowers Stretch Out From The Hedges, Or Look Up From The Ground, And As Each Year Fades Away, He Looks Back On A Fresh Store Of Happy Memories.

Men Are More Helped By Sympathy Than By Service.

We May Sit In Our Library And Yet Be In All Quarters Of The Earth.

Rest Is Not Idleness, And To Lie Sometimes On The Grass Under Trees On A Summer's Day, Listening To The Murmur Of The Water, Or Watching The Clouds Float Across The Sky, Is By No Means A Waste Of Time.