While We've Youth In Our Hearts, We

I Know Of No Teachers So Powerful And Persuasive As The Little Army Of Specialists. They Carry No Banners, They Beat No Drums; But Where They Are Men Learn That Bustle And Push Are Not The Equals Of Quiet Genius And Serene Mastery.

Life Is A Fatal Complaint, And An Eminently Contagious One.

It Takes Me Several Days, After I Get Back To Boston, To Realize That The Reference "the President" Refers To The President Of Harvard And Not To A Minor Official In Washington.

Old Age Is Like An Opium Dream. Nothing Seems Real Except The Unreal.

On The Whole, I Am On The Side Of The Unregenerate Who Affirms The Worth Of Life As An End In Itself, As Against The Saints Who Deny It.